


if you need a loving hand

by curlshire



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee, Coffee Shops, M/M, how many coffee shop tags do i need i don't know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlshire/pseuds/curlshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis are just two friends who bought a coffee shop and went into business together.  They <s>definitely</s> <i>probably</i> do not have feelings for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Where are those prepped croissants I asked for – _twenty minutes ago_?” snaps Harry’s manager.

Harry eyes the ball of pale yellow dough still sitting on the counter, defrosting away in its container.  It looks rather disgusting – the melting frost gives it the appearance of being almost _sweaty_ – but Harry made the mistake once of complaining about the state of the food here, and it almost got him fired, so he’s learned his lesson.

“Sorry, working on it!” he yells as he kneads the lump of pre-made pastry dough, trying to flatten it out as best as he can.  Truth be told, it’s still a little too frozen to work with, but if he has to wait for it to fully thaw then he’ll have to stay late, and that is _not_ an option.  All he wants to do is finish preparing these croissants so he can stick them in the fridge, ready to be baked tomorrow morning, and then he can finally leave this shitty excuse for a restaurant.

Really, this isn’t where he saw himself working when he first went into culinary school.  He’d always pictured himself working at a café in France, or maybe Italy, starting from the bottom but quickly working his way up to become one of the most respected chefs.  Instead, he’s here working with canned and frozen and pre-made food, serving things he wouldn’t even feed to his dog (not that he has one, but that’s beside the point).

A customer pops up in front of the till, tapping the desk bell on the counter about fifteen times. “Yeah, you with the hair, hurry up.  I want an extra large pumpkin cinnamon latté, no pumpkin, no cinnamon, extra latté.”

Harry turns around, trying with all his might not to throw the dough at the mystery customer, only to see his best mate, Louis, looking at him with the biggest shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “You prick,” he laughs, shaking his head before giving the dough a hard _thump_ with a rolling pin.

“Is that how they taught you to roll dough in school?” Louis tuts, leaning down on his elbows and watching as Harry works.

“They never taught us how to deal with anything that had the words ‘frozen’ or ‘pre-made’ in the name in school.” Harry’s pretty sure his professors would have a conniption if they could see the state of the food here.  He gives the dough another good _smack_ with the pin, just for good measure.

Louis stays for the next twenty minutes and watches Harry as he flattens and slices and rolls the dough, eventually making two dozen identical moon-shaped twists and arranging them neatly on a pan before shoving them into the industrial fridge.

“Done!” he cheers, peeling his gloves off and throwing them at Louis’s face in his delight.

“If there’s butter on that and I break out, there will be hell to pay.” Louis plucks several napkins from the dispenser and scrubs at his face as Harry pulls his apron off over his head and disappears into the back room to get his stuff.

He reappears a few moments later, eyes bright and face glowing with the relief of finally being able to leave. “How was work?” he asks, knowing Louis hates his job just as much as Harry hates his.

Louis groans. “Long.  I need a coffee.”

“I do _not_ recommend you get one here,” Harry warns.

Louis laughs and leads the way out the door, barely managing to catch their bus before it peels away from the curb.  It's the only bus that will take them directly to their favourite coffee place,  _Teasdale’s Tea Time_.  It’s all the way across town, but it’s worth it for a proper brew.  After 8 hours of running tedious errands for the business executives at Louis’s work, he knows a good hot cup of coffee is what he needs, and it’s worth the trip to get it.

Harry goes along without complaint, because he knows how much Louis needs a place to wind down after work, and besides, after his shift he needs to be reminded of what real food tastes like.

“How’s your manager?” Louis asks once the cab pulls away from the curb, veering down the street at an alarming pace.

“Still a twat.  How’s your boss?” Harry counters.

“Still a prick.  What is it about authority that turns people into complete maniacs?”

“I think it’s the ties, they look really uncomfortable,” Harry offers, and Louis can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, well I can’t blame your manager for being so pissed off when he has to wear that stupid company vest all day,” Louis points out.

Harry grimaces and runs his fingers through his hair, trying to fluff his locks back to their normal bouncy state after being flattened by the hair net for six consecutive hours. “I _really_ need a new job.  I didn’t go to culinary school just to work at a shitty bakery, rolling out frozen dough and filling _pre-made_ pie shells with _canned_ pie filling.”

The bus pulls up to their stop and Louis leads the way, stopping on the sidewalk to bump his hip against Harry's and give him a sympathetic look. “You’ve got to start somewhere.  Hell, I just graduated with high honors with a degree in business, and I’m stuck doing _coffee runs_.”

“We are so tragically misunderstood,” Harry teases, sweeping the door open with a dramatic flourish.  The bell over the door tinkles brightly to announce their presence, but Harry and Louis both stop dead in their tracks in the entranceway.

“What the…” Louis murmurs quietly.  The inside of their favourite coffee shop since their first year of university is now barely recognizable: the chairs are stacked away, the tables are pushed messily against the wall, the paintings that had once adorned the walls are now missing, and the counter at the far end of the restaurant is covered in boxes, each filled with pots and pans and bags of unroasted coffee beans.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” calls a voice from the back room upon hearing the bell chime.  An older man with greying hair and sharp features steps out behind the counter, a clipboard tucked under his arm and a rather expensive-looking watch gleaming from his wrist.

“The…the door was open,” Harry stammers, brows knitting together perplexedly.

“Yes, the movers are meant to be here any minute to get those tables out of the way,” the man mumbles, peering into one of the boxes on the counter and sorting through it before turning to scribble a note down on his clipboard.

“Are you renovating or something?” Louis’s eyes run over the walls of the coffee shop, trying to absorb the way it looks now, right down to every last white square standing out against the yellowing wallpaper to mark the place where pictures and paintings had once hung.

“In a manner of speaking,” the man says cryptically.  Harry and Louis both give him a confused glance, and he sighs before expanding. “I’m the owner of the shop; Mrs. Teasdale was renting this space from me.  She, however, has moved to be closer to her family with 3 months still left on her lease, leaving me to fix this place up and try to rent it out again.”

“Wait, what’s going to happen to the shop?” Louis can’t bear to think of losing his favourite coffee place.  He and Harry have spent countless hours in the booth in the corner, cramming for exams (actually, _procrastinating_ cramming for exams is a better way to put it), complaining about uni, talking about their plans for the future, and just generally goofing off and being idiots in the special way a person can only be around their best mate.  The coffee shop seems to hold ninety percent of his favourite memories from the past few years.

The man, however, clearly does not know nor care about Louis’s attachment to the shop. “Well, I’ve got to renovate the place and try to find someone else to rent it out, so now I’m stuck with all these roasters and grinders that I can’t even sell.  Actually, I’m _losing_ money, because I’ve got to pay people to come and take them off to the dump.” At some point in the conversation he seems to forget that Louis and Harry are even really there, using them only as an excuse to complain about his problems.

Harry jams his hand in his pocket, pulling out his disappointingly light wallet and fishing around for a few notes as he eyes up the professional equipment sitting in boxes on the counter. “How much do you want for it?”

“The shop?” The man seems rather incredulous, yet hopeful. “Well, if you’ll take it as is, I can give you a pretty significant discount – considering what I’d save on renovation costs, and given that I’m rather eager to get this place off the market again—”

“What?  No!  The equipment!” Harry says defensively, cutting him off before he can push his sales pitch any further.

Louis, however, reaches out to grab Harry’s wrist, inadvertently squeezing so hard that he cuts off the circulation to Harry’s fingertips. “Could you excuse us a moment?” he asks with a polite smile, pulling Harry back outside without waiting for a reply and pushing him up against the wall.  He pauses for a moment, trying to think of the best way to introduce his idea slowly, but he’s too impatient, too overwhelmed with the excitement that’s bubbling up inside him at this _magnificent_  stroke of genius.

“What is it?” Harry urges, suspicion leaking into his voice as he catches sight of the look on Louis’s face.  Nothing good ever comes of that look, he’s learned, but he always seems to give Louis the benefit of the doubt in these situations (against his better judgment).

“What do you think of buying the shop?” Louis asks breathlessly.

“I think it’s the _stupidest_ idea I’ve ever heard,” Harry replies, spluttering and stumbling over his words.  Louis has always been one for big ideas, but this is bigger than Harry expected; it’s even more worrying since he looks so _serious_ about it.

Louis shakes his head, determined to make Harry see his point. “This is exactly the break we’ve both been looking for!  You’re always complaining about how your job is _way_ below what any culinary school graduate aims for, right?  And I’m sick and tired of fetching coffee and doughnuts for tetchy higher-ups when I’ve got a bloody _degree_ in business.  Think about it!  I could handle the business aspects – advertising, legalities, tax forms – and you could bake and cook and brew to your heart’s content.”

Harry sighs. “Yeah, yeah, it sounds great when you put it that way, but how the hell do you plan on paying for it?”

“We haggle!  You heard him, the guy said he’s desperate!  Besides, the shop is pretty well set with everything we’d need.  All we’d have to do is redecorate a little – you know, new coat of paint, change the name, brighten the place up – and we’ve got ourselves a coffee shop.  One that you can run your way; no pre-made pie shells or canned filling or asshole managers.  You can make everything from scratch to your own standard, from the muffins to the lattés,” Louis promises.

Harry gnaws on his lower lip, trying not to fantasize about running his own shop.  Of course Louis is doing this on purpose; he _knows_ that this is Harry’s dream, and he’s practically dangling this right in front of his face. “That’s not paying for it, that’s just driving the price down.  Shops in this part of the city are expensive, and I don’t know about you but I don’t have a couple hundred thousand pounds just lying around,” he says, trying not to let the sadness leak into his voice at the thought of having to pass up this opportunity.

“There is such a thing as a _loan_ , Harry,” Louis points out. “And I took several accounting courses to get this business degree; I know all about that process.”

Harry shakes his head, but he can feel his resolve withering. “I don’t know…”

“This is exactly what we need; I mean, it’s fully stocked and everything!  You said you believe in fate, right?  I think that’s what this is, for us – a man who’s always wanted to make food that he can stand behind, and a man who’s always wanted to start his own franchise – to find this shop at this point in our lives.”

Harry groans and leans his head back to smack it off the brick wall behind him. “You’re insane.”

Louis doesn’t hear it as a denial, and his hopes lift. “C’mon, Harry, you used to be so daring in uni.  You said you never wanted to grow up into some boring adult, you wanted to keep taking risks.  I’ll take care of all the finances and legalities, you won’t have to worry about anything other than making whatever culinary delights your curly little head can dream up.”

Harry glances up, his teeth digging into his lower lip, and he can’t even say anything at this point.  Louis’s words have settled into his head, painting a picture of the future he’s always dreamed of but was starting to doubt he’d ever actually achieve, and he can’t let this slip through his fingers now.

Louis leans in, making one final promise: “And you’ll never have to touch frozen pastry dough ever again.”

And, just like that, Harry is sold.

+

“Well, Louis, my _fellow business partner_ ,” Harry says with a smug grin, delighted to hear the words aloud. “I think a toast is in order.”

“Yes, Harry, my _fellow business partner_ , I think you’re right,” Louis agrees as he and Harry stumble into his apartment, at least five pounds of documents and forms stashed away in his briefcase (he’d gone out and bought it right before going to the bank, feeling the need to look official now that he was an official business owner).  The owner of the shop, whom they learned was one Simon Cowell, had agreed to meet them in two days for lunch to discuss the lease and to officially sign the contract, and the bank had officially approved them for a sizeable loan earlier that afternoon.  Everything seems to be going according to plan (not that either one of them _have_ a plan, strictly speaking; they’re just running on excitement for the most part), and the only thing left for them to do is to celebrate over drinks.

Louis pulls out two wine glasses and fills them up until they’re practically overflowing, holding one out to Harry. “To success!”

“To friendship,” Harry adds with a small smile, clinking their glasses together.  Some wine sloshes from both glasses, but they’re both too busy gulping down large mouthfuls to notice.

Louis crinkles his nose at the stale aftertaste of the wine – it was admittedly the cheapest bottle he could find at Tesco – and makes a mental note to buy a bottle of proper champagne for them to celebrate with after their meeting with Simon.

“So, _fellow business partner_ ,” Louis says, because he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of saying that. “What do you want to do to celebrate?  Shall we go out on the town, go out and buy some fancy new suits?  Or, for you, a fancy new chef’s hat?”

“I think our normal celebration regime would still work,” Harry suggests.

“Alcohol and _Grease_?”

“Well, we’ve already got the wine, so we’re halfway there.  Might as well see it through.”

And so Louis finds himself lighting a few candles (for ambiance, of course, because this is a _classy_ celebration), dimming the lights, and jamming the _Grease_ disc into his old clunky DVD player before settling back into the couch with Harry, feeling like he’s back in uni again, celebrating the end of exams.  Both men sing enthusiastically along with the opening song, and Harry holds his glass between his thighs so he can snap to the rhythm while Louis sways back and forth in time with the beat.

Their energy fades quickly, though, and it’s not long before Harry’s finishing his fifth glass of wine and has nuzzled himself in to Louis’s side, head resting on his lap, with a blanket tucked over both of them.  He can barely find the energy to mumble along with the songs now, and even so his words are barely coherent – whether from his exhaustion or from the wine, he’s not sure.  He's never really been one to hold his alcohol all that well, truth be told, but he feels lovely and warm and fuzzy, so he's not going to complain this time.

When John Travolta and his leather-clad cohorts are dancing on their car and singing _Greased Lightning_ , Louis leans over to turn the volume down just a bit.

“You asleep?”

“Yes,” Harry murmurs, hiding his face in the crook where Louis’s knee meets his thigh.

“Prick,” Louis scoffs, but he says it fondly. “What do you think we should name the place, anyway?”

Harry shakes his head, jostling Louis’s entire leg in doing so. “If we talk about names now, we’ll jinx it.”

“I didn’t think you were superstitious.”

“I am when it comes to something this important.”

Louis sighs and nudges Harry’s shoulder lightly. “C’mon, don’t even _pretend_ that you haven’t been thinking up names.  That’s all I’ve been able to do the entire time we’ve been watching this film.”

“Why, what names have you thought of?”

“I thought you didn’t want to know.”

“That was before I got curious.”

Louis laughs. “ _Curly’s Cuppa_ has quite a ring to it.”

Harry pulls a face, his nose crinkling cutely. “I don’t think the customers will want to hear about my hair in such close proximity to their drinks.  Besides, why does it have to be named after me?  Why can’t it be _Lou’s Brew_ or something?”

“Because I won’t be the one doing the brewing,” Louis points out.

“What about something like _Corner Coffee_?”

“Because the shop isn’t on the corner.”

“But it will be ironic!  Or, like, a pick up line, or something confusing, like _I Like Your Face_ , because people would walk in out of curiosity and stay for the food.”

Louis can’t tell if he’s making one of his famous awful jokes or if he’s just incredibly drunk.  Just in case he takes the glass from Harry’s hand and pours the remaining wine into his own cup, effectively cutting him off. “No more alcohol for you.”

Harry pouts, but he’s too tired and too tipsy to fight back, so he just settles back into Louis’s lap again. “You’re not being a very good host,” he complains.

“Well, too bad, because you’re stuck with me for the night.  I’m not going to let you bus home like this, so you’ll have to crash here on the sofa.” Louis gingerly raises Harry’s head up off his lap just long enough to stand up and replace his legs with a decorative cushion.  Harry grumbles at the movement, rolling over onto his stomach and wrapping his arms around the pillow to bury his face in it.

“Going to sleep now, go away,” Harry mutters.

Louis rolls his eyes and pulls a face to the back of Harry’s head, but says nothing.  He rinses out their glasses in the sink, blows out the candles, and switches off the TV, tiptoeing around as quietly as possible to avoid waking Harry.

“You lovable little idiot,” Louis whispers as Harry mumbles incoherently and rolls over in his sleep, nearly launching himself off the end of the couch but managing to settle himself back safely in the middle.  Louis gets a cup of water and a bottle of Paracetamol from the kitchen, setting both on the table next to Harry in anticipation of the hangover he might have to deal with in the morning, before padding into his own bedroom.  He normally sleeps with his door shut tight, but tonight he leaves his door ajar, open just enough for him to hear Harry’s quiet snores drift into the room to remind him that, even though he’s crawling into a cold empty bed, he’s not _totally_ alone – not tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis discovers the importance of French, and Harry tries not to laugh (too hard).

Despite the fact that Louis insists he’s of Belgian descent and that he has a small fit every time someone doesn’t pronounce his name the proper French way, he actually doesn’t know any more than one real French phrase (that phrase being “ _voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?_ ”).  He’s never really seen the need to learn French, in all honesty; he can usually get away with sounding worldly just with his French name, and leave it at that.

But now, looking down at the menu of the poshest French restaurant this side of the city, he’s wishing he’d at least considered taking French back in school.

“Oh, God, what is that?” Louis mumbles, nudging Harry and pointing to a word that doesn’t even look vaguely pronounceable.

Harry, whose knowledge of French cuisine has instilled him with a basic understanding of the language insofar as reading a menu goes, seems perfectly content to watch Louis struggle with his menu. “Just order what you know,” he says.

“I don’t know the French word for ‘cheeseburger’!” Louis hisses.

Harry barks out a laugh. “Just say it with a French accent. ‘ _Garçon, je_ would like  _le cheeseburger_ ,’” he demonstrates rather mockingly, laughing a little too hard at his own joke.

Louis crinkles his nose and opens his mouth to protest, but he spots Simon stepping in through the door and his stomach drops. “Please, Harry?  I can’t look like an idiot in front of Mr. Cowell.  Have some mercy.” He pulls his best pleading face, trying to make himself look as adorable and pitiful as possible.

Harry sighs, jutting his lip out a bit so his breath puffs up the tops of his curls, and Louis knows that face – that face means he’s won. “Okay, order this,” he says, pointing to a line on the menu. “I made it for you before, and you said you liked it.  It’s chicken with wine, mushrooms, pork fat, and garlic.”

Louis grimaces. “Can I substitute something for the pork fat?  Like, I dunno, cheese or something?”

Harry narrows his eyes into a glare.  Louis shuts up.

“Hello, boys!  Sorry I’m running a bit late, traffic was hectic.” Simon shrugs his coat off his shoulders, draping it over the back of his chair.

“Don't worry about it, we only just got here ourselves,” Louis insists easily, despite the fact that he and Harry have been sitting here eating breadsticks and speaking to each other in awful fake French accents for about thirty minutes.

A waiter starts to put a menu down in front of Simon, but he cuts him off. “No need, thank you; I already know what I’ll have.  Are you two ready as well?”

Louis glances to Harry quickly and Harry does the same, before they both nod in unison.

“I’ll have the chicken Cordon Bleu with a glass of Beaujolais,” Mr. Cowell says.

Harry orders next. “Could I get the quiche Lorraine with white Bordeaux, please?”

Louis gulps, a little put-off by hearing the way both of them pronounced the French dishes with such smooth confidence, but he tries to sound confident as he orders. “I’d like the ‘cock-a-vine’, please?” He knows he’s buggered it up as soon as he sees Harry burst out in ungraceful laughter, having to clamp a hand over his mouth to quiet himself.

The waiter’s cheeks flush pink and he clears his throat awkwardly. “Sorry, what was that, sir?”

“He means the  _coq au vin_ ,” Harry clarifies.  He’s swallowed most of his laughter by this point, leaving only a few residual chuckles, but that doesn’t lessen Louis’s desire to crawl under the table and melt into a puddle rather than show his face.  He feels Harry’s hand on his knee, giving it a light squeeze and a few reassuring pats, and, admittedly, feels a bit better for it.

“And which wine would you like?” The waiter asks, though he doesn’t seem sure whether he’s meant to ask Louis or Harry.

Louis jumps back in, trying to make the best of the wreckage. “I’ll get the white Bordeaux as well, please,” he says, quite confident that he repeated it in the same accent as Harry.

Harry pulls a little face, and Louis recognizes it as the one he always makes whenever Louis orders the wrong wine at a restaurant, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything.  Instead, he just gives a final pat to Louis’s knee before pulling his hand away.

The waiter nods and collects the menus before heading back to the kitchen, leaving the three of them alone.

He’s barely left the table when Simon turns to Harry and Louis with a solemn look on his face. “Okay, boys, let’s get down to business.  I’ve got all the necessary paperwork here with me and I’m hoping we can close this deal before they bring out the dessert menu,” he says with a tight smile.

Louis sees the way Harry gives a little nervous squirm in his seat at the mention of business, and now it’s his turn to give Harry’s knee a comforting pat underneath the table. “Then I suppose we’d better get down to it,” he says, trying to sound confident and collected.

Simon’s smile widens as he pulls out his briefcase and unclasps the latch, revealing one of the largest collections of paperwork Louis has ever seen.  He doesn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes flicker to his face, looking for any sign of weakness, and so Louis takes extra care to maintain his composure – for Harry’s sake.

Mr. Cowell pulls a pen out of the breast pocket of his blazer, holding it out along with the first page off the top of the stack of paper. “After you, boys.”

+

Two hours and several dozen signatures later, Harry and Louis walk out of the restaurant with the deed and keys to the shop.  Louis feels like he’s on top of the world; he can officially hand in his resignation and be done with his shitty degrading job, he can call his family and tell them he’s an actual  _business owner_ , and he can start looking forward to coming into work because nos he can do everything on his own terms.  Even though it’s only one quaint coffee shop, it’s  _his_ , his and Harry’s, and that’s all he could ever ask for.

Harry, however, doesn’t seem to share the sentiment.  His eyes are glazed over and glassy and his fingers can’t stop carding through his hair – something Louis has only ever seen him do when he was stressing out over his final exams back in school.

“Calm down there, Curly, you’re going to pull all your hair out,” Louis teases.

“I’ve got thick hair and good genes, it’ll grow back,” Harry mumbles, but nonetheless allows his hand to drop down to his side.

“Yeah, but then while your hair was growing back, I couldn’t call you ‘Curly’,” Louis points out as he flags down a cab to take them to the shop.

“Course you could, then it’d just be ironic,” Harry says as he climbs into the car behind Louis.  He looks rather uncomfortable with his long, gangly legs stuffed awkwardly against the back of the seat in front of him, but Louis daren’t laugh at him.

“I was never big on irony, really,” Louis says before turning to tell the cabbie where to go, and after he’s finished announcing the address he can’t help adding under his breath, “our coffee shop.”

Harry’s hand twitches like it’s fighting to return to his hair upon hearing Louis’s quiet addition. “D’you think this was a good idea?  What if this doesn’t work out?  What if we don’t turn a profit?  Lou, we don’t even have any  _staff_  lined up!  And we can’t hire that many people because we’ve only got the start-up funds to pay for a handful of employees.” Harry’s teeth sink into his lower lip, gnawing away at it, and while Louis is grateful for the silence it provides, he knows that Harry’s thoughts are racing with every second he’s not speaking.

“Look, it’ll all work out, yeah?  Promise,” he murmurs, and while Harry gives him a little nod, Louis can tell he’s more on-edge than ever. “Hey, just think about something else, something that makes you happy.”

Harry pauses for a moment, then gives Louis one of the biggest shit-eating grins he’s ever seen. “Like how you asked the waiter for ‘cock-a-vine’?” He’s barely got the words out before he’s cackling uncontrollably, bracing himself against the door and clutching a hand over his stomach.

Louis’s previously sympathetic expression folds into a grimace. “Okay, changed my mind; go back to worrying yourself sick, please.  I liked you better that way.”

“Oh my God, Lou, you should’ve seen the waiters face, ’m pretty sure he thought you were just some tosser talking about your cock!” Harry says between howls of laughter.

Louis gives an indignant huff. “He  _wishes_  me and my cock would give him the time of day,” he says, and the cabbie gives him a strange look in the rear-view mirror.

Harry seems to have gotten over his laughing fit for the most part, though he still looks rather smug as he gives Louis’s shoulder a condescending pat. “Course he does,” he says, biting back another chuckle.

Louis scowls and lets out a petulant little  _harrumph_.

He’s saved from having to come up with a biting response when the taxi pulls to the curb in front of the coffee shop –  _their_  coffee shop, he thinks smugly.  He lets himself laugh a little louder than he should at Harry as he tries to untangle his legs from the cramped backseat, deeming it payback for Harry’s earlier mocking.  Harry gives him a grumpy look but he doesn’t say anything, leaving them as good as even.

They both turn to head into the shop, newly received keys in hand, but stop short upon seeing a blond-haired boy in a snapback cap leaning up against the door.  He looks to be about their age – maybe a bit younger, though it’s hard to get a good look at him as he’s staring down at his mobile intently.  He appears to be waiting for it to ring, glaring at it with a rather miserable look on his face.

“Excuse me, is everything okay?” Louis asks, trying to find a polite way to ask what this strange boy is doing in front of their shop.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, just…just waiting for the owner,” the boy replies, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to point to the shop.

“I think that’s us, then,” Harry says, fear of their decision making way for pride as he realizes that he can actually tell people he  _owns_  a coffee shop.

The boy groans and pulls his snapback over his face, sinking back against the door. “Ah,  _shit_ ,” he hisses. “Lou sold it already then, did she?”

“Mrs. Teasdale didn’t…um, she rented…” Harry fumbles for words, trying to explain that, technically, Mr. Cowell owns the actual building, but he gives up upon seeing the confused look on the blond boy’s face, settling for, “Yeah, she did.”

The boy pulls his snapback onto his head once again, stuffing his mobile in his pocket. “Could you let me in?  I worked here before the place closed, and I left my jacket in the back last time I was in.”

Louis nods and steps forward, fumbling through the set of keys to figure out which one unlocks the front door.  It takes a few tries but eventually he gets it, holding it open for Harry and the blond boy with a triumphant grin.  It takes every fibre of Harry’s being not to tease Louis about how pleased he looks, sparing a thought for the boy still within earshot.

The stranger disappears into the back room and reappears moments later, a black jacket thrown over his arm. “Thanks, mate,” he says.

Louis nods. “Was nothing.  Hey, if you don’t mind my asking, do you know what’s happened to the rest of the staff here?”

The boy shrugs. “Most of them managed to get jobs elsewhere.  A lot of people have been working here long enough that they’ve got the experience for it – there’re loads of other coffee shops in the city willing to hire people who actually know what they’re doing.  It’s the ones like me that are stuck – the kids right out of school with barely any experience.”

“Do you know anyone still looking for a job, then?” Louis asks, and Harry tugs at his sleeve.

“What are you doing?” Harry whispers in Louis’s ear, though it’s hardly subtle; the boy is still standing just a few feet away from them, able to see exactly what Harry’s doing.

Louis turns his head over his shoulder to whisper back a reply. “You said we needed staff, so I’m getting staff.  You’re welcome.”

Harry can’t find anything to complain about in that; if the boy was good enough to work for Lou Teasdale, he’s good enough for him, too.  Even though it’s been a while since he and Louis came here regularly, he knows Mrs. Teasdale's standards are remarkably high, particularly with the employees.  He gives a small nod of assent, and Louis turns back to the boy to catch his reply.

“Well, me and my mate Zayn, we both worked here together.  He’s still trying to find work, too – he was a cashier,” he explains.

“What was your position?” Louis asks.

“I was a barista.  I’ve got the training for it and everything,” he says hesitantly, like he’s trying to figure out if they’re going to hire him or if they’re just incredibly nosy.

“Did you want to come in and try working for us, then?  We’re leaving the place a coffee shop, and while Harry here is our resident pastry  _master_ , we still need someone to handle the coffee.  I mean, we’d have to see your barista skills in action first, but we’d love to take you on,” Louis says with a warm grin – one that Harry swears emanates pure sunshine.

The boy perks up instantly. “Yeah, that’d be – yeah!” he says, eyes alight with enthusiasm.

“Right, well, I suppose we’ll need to sort out contact information, won’t we?  Speaking of which…I don’t think I caught your name?” Louis says.

“Niall,” he replies, holding out a hand, which Harry and Louis both shake, introducing themselves as they do so. “So who’s the official boss?”

Harry jumps in. “We bought the place together, actually.  Louis and I are partners.”

Niall gives a little smile and a nod. “Oh, that’s nice.  Are you two married yet, or…?”

Louis and Harry both cough out a denial in unison. “Wha – no, no,  _business_  partners!  Not…like… _partner_  partners!” Louis explains, face flushing red and hands fidgeting anxiously with his suit.

“I mean, we’re both gay,” Harry splutters, and Louis cringes visibly.  He was always one to blurt out the first thing on his mind in an awkward situation -- something that was usually endearing, but now just makes Louis want to smack him upside the head. “But, like, we’re not gay…” Harry pauses, trying to find the right word, and when he finally says “together” Louis chimes in with “for each other”.

“That…um, yeah.” Louis clears his throat, wants to give Harry a dirty look for blurting that out and completely ruining any sense of professionalism in his (admittedly endearing) bumbling idiocy.

Niall, however, doesn’t seem to care too much one way or the other. “Oh, okay.  Um, so, about Zayn...” he says, trying to subtly bring his friend back into the conversation.

Louis is glad for the welcome change of topic. “Right, your friend!  We need cashiers as well, so if you can have him come in at some point to talk to us, we’ll see about hiring him.”

Niall brightens up and starts chattering out a chorus of ‘thank you’s and ‘really appreciate it’s.  He jots down his and Zayn’s numbers and bids them a cheery goodbye before trotting out of the shop, rosy colour blooming in the apples of his cheeks.

Harry and Louis exchange awkward glances, unsure whether they’re meant to laugh about Niall’s assumption or just ignore it entirely.

Louis settles on the latter. “Right, then, we should probably start clearing these boxes away.  We’ll have to start painting and redecorating as soon as we can if we’re going to open this place up in good time,” he says.

Harry nods and pulls his suit jacket off, leaving it strewn over a stack of chairs, and rucks the sleeves of his shirt up his forearms before turning to Louis. “Okay, where do you want to put the boxes?”

“I suppose we should just put them in the back for now,” Louis suggests.  Harry nods and turns to pick up one of the bigger boxes, and Louis  _definitely_  does not check out his bum as he bends over.

+

Louis’s mobile goes off at three o’clock in the morning, the vibrations making it rattle and buzz noisily on his nightstand.  He scoops it up with a clumsy hand, prepared to tell whoever’s on the line to  _fuck off_  for at least another four hours, only to see that it’s Harry.

“Wha’re y’doin’?” is Louis’s greeting, croaked out in a groggy moan.

“Are you drunk?”

“Was sleeping,”

“Oh, yeah.  That’d make sense.  Anyway, I’ve thought of what we should name the coffee shop!”

Louis bites back a groan because as much as he wants to yell at Harry to go the hell to sleep, he does sound genuinely excited, and it’s the first time he’s heard him so enthusiastic since they first decided to buy the place. “Whazzit?”

“No, let’s talk over video chat,” Harry insists.

Louis starts to groan out a denial when his mobile blips, letting him know he’s got a FaceTime request.  Reluctantly he accepts it, though he’s got to switch on a lamp so his face is actually visible.

Harry isn’t exactly a sight for sore eyes three in the morning, Louis discovers.  His hair is a fluffy mess, sticking up every which way, and there are bruise-like bags dipping from the corners of his eyes down to the tops of his cheekbones.  To be fair, the bags could be exaggerated by the light; Harry’s face is illuminated solely by the bluish-white tinge of what Louis can only assume to be his computer screen.

“Y’look like death,” Louis says matter-of-factly.

Harry snorts. “You don’t look so pretty yourself.”

“I always look pretty,” Louis responds, though he doesn’t dare give a close look at himself on his mobile, choosing to blame any and all unattractive bits on the camera.

“Yeah, okay, you’re gorgeous, whatever.  Anyway, I thought of the perfect name for the shop.”

Louis blinks a few times, but Harry just grins stupidly at him through the screen of his mobile, evidently trying to prolong the suspense. “And what is this so-called perfect name?” Louis asks finally.

Harry bites his lip like he’s going to split open from sheer joy and excitement. “Big Bean.  Get it?  Like Big Ben, because we’re in the London area?  But ‘bean’, because we sell coffee!”

Louis pauses for a moment. “You really want to make the name into a pun?” he asks, more confused than upset.

Harry nods eagerly, tangled curls flopping across his forehead. “We can design the sign and logo with a professional-looking font and stuff, it won’t be like a joke café.  It’ll just have a clever name.  And plus, Big Bean really rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?”

And suddenly it clicks into place why Harry wanted to video chat, because he’s giving Louis this big wide-eyed look, an eager smile stretching at his lips, and even though his hair’s a mess and he looks frightfully tired, he’s still adorable and endearing and he  _knows_  Louis can’t say no to him when he looks like that.  Even though Louis is still testing the name out in his head, he finds his mouth shaping out the words, “Yeah, okay, sure.”

Harry lights up, flashing a beaming smile. “Thanks, Lou!  You’re the best.”

“I know,” Louis says with a yawn, leaning his head back against the pillow and rolling over, holding his phone out on his side.  It almost looks like Harry is lying on the pillow next to him, though it’s rather depressing once Louis remembers he’s actually still alone in his bed.

“You should get some sleep,” Harry suggests.

“Yeah, sleep, why didn’t I think of that?” Louis grumbles sarcastically.

 “You’re always grumpy when you’re tired.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t wake me up at three o’clock in the morning unless it’s an emergency.”

“It was an emergency!” Harry insists.

“Goodnight, Harry,” Louis says, trying to sound stern, though his voice is clouded with drowsiness.

“G’night!” Harry chirps, nearly cut off as the call ends.  Louis curls up into a little ball, knees against his chest and covers pulled up to his chin, and drifts off to sleep with his phone still in his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds new admiration for Zayn (Louis is certainly not jealous, thank you very much) and an interesting conversation is had with a certain handsome hardware store employee.

The next two days prove to be quite productive.  Niall and his friend Zayn have their interviews and are hired on the spot (honestly, the interviews are merely a formality; they’re just too charming and eager _not_ to hire), and both boys are able to come in to work the very next day and help out around the restaurant.  Harry spends most of his time sifting through hundreds of paint samples, narrowing it down to a mere handful, Louis writes up a master monthly budget, they both contact all the necessary suppliers and order their start-up needs, and the restaurant now seems like a bare canvas, theirs to recreate however they wish.

The fourth morning is off to a good start when Zayn and Niall show up with a large McDonald’s haul of coffee and breakfast sandwiches.  The sandwiches are positively dripping with grease, and Louis isn’t sure he’s ever smelled anything more delicious than such deep-fried goodness this early in the morning.

Louis nudges his finance binders to the side as Zayn lays out his food in front of him. “Are you trying to bribe your bosses?”

“Is it working?” Zayn laughs, and Louis can’t help but stare.  He’s so attractive, even at this ungodly hour in the morning; while his stubble and rugged clothes should make him seem intimidating, his smile is so warm Louis is certain it could melt glaciers.

Louis sinks his teeth into his sandwich slowly, savours the salty, fatty goodness. “Absolutely,” he replies with a smile, chasing the bite down with a gulp of coffee.

Zayn grins and turns to Harry to finish handing out the food, leaving Louis to wonder how quickly it will take for this food to drop to this thighs as he chomps another great mouthful out of the sandwich.  Zayn and Niall hop up on the counter side by side, Niall occupies himself by munching on his own sandwich as well as a side of chips – of which Zayn steals the occasional one  whenever his back is turned – and for a few moments everyone stops to just eat, speaking only to murmur out their appreciation for the food.

Niall is the first to break the silence, licking the salt off his fingers and giving the empty container a questioning look, like he’s wondering how all of his chips disappeared so fast. “So, what can we do to help?”

And Harry’s off, reciting a list as long as his incredibly lanky arm of all the things that need to be done.  Louis listens politely, as if he hasn’t heard this a hundred times before, and throws in an eager nod at the appropriate time to make it seem as if he’s just as on top of all this as Harry.  Niall’s eyes widen a bit once he realizes just how many things need to be done and he mutters out a quiet " _holy shit_ ", only now seeing what he’s gotten himself into, but Zayn gives him a clap on the shoulder and a forced smile that seems to shout, ‘ _don’t piss off the bosses_ ’.

“We’re here for whatever you need.  Right, Niall?”

Niall gives a halfhearted grin and a nod, mumbling out an unintelligible agreement.

“Actually, I could use a hand choosing between these two cupcake samples.” Harry bolts into the kitchen like he’s never been more excited in his life.  He returns a few seconds later with two trays of identical cupcakes, holding them out for everyone to sample. “These ones were made with lemon zest in the batter, and these were made with lemon extract.  Taste them both, and tell me which you prefer.”

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever heard a job better suited for him in his life.

The job quickly becomes much harder when he realizes that he can’t taste a single difference between the cupcakes. “They’re both great,” he says, hoping Harry won’t push him for a definite answer.

Of course, he does. “But which tastes better?”

“They both taste the same.  Both really great.” He hopes he can shower Harry with enough compliments to please him.

His response is met with a simple eye roll before Harry turns to Niall, who’s got a comically large dollop of frosting smeared across his cheek. “What did you think?”

Niall flashes a big thumbs up, grinning through a mouthful of chewed cupcake.  He pauses, swallowing it all down in one gulp, and Louis wonders if he’s going to choke. “Uh, one was a bit sweeter…can’t remember which one it was, though.  Kind of got them mixed up,” he says with an apologetic grin.

Harry’s expression falls slightly, and he turns to Zayn – his last hope for a constructive answer.  There’s a sort of pleading look in his eyes as he waits for the boy’s verdict, and Louis almost wishes he had just made up some bullshit answer just to please him.

Zayn finishes chewing, a thoughtful look on his face as he brushes the crumbs off his lips. “I think the one with the lemon zest has a better consistency; it’s lighter, fluffier, and the taste of the lemon isn’t so overwhelming.  The one with the extract is a bit too dense and cakey.”

And Louis wants to scoff at that because of course it’s _cakey_ , it’s a fucking cupcake – it’s a cup-sized cake, it’s right there in the name.  He sees the way Harry lights up, filled with newfound admiration for Zayn and his godly knowledge of all things cake, and suddenly Louis isn’t sure he likes this kid quite so much.

Harry picks up the cupcake and tries it, nodding appreciatively. “Yeah, you’re right.  You’ve got a great palate.”

“Nah, they were both really good.  Mrs. Teasdale herself would probably beg you for the recipe,” Zayn replies with a wink and a charming smile.  Louis wants to smack the quiff right off his head.

“Hey, would you mind helping me pick a paint sample?  I’ve narrowed it down to these three, but I just can’t choose.” Harry holds up the swatches in question, spreading them out on the table in front of Zayn for him to inspect.

Zayn looks at them all with an almost comically intense expression, like he’s trying to neutralize a bomb rather than just pick between three nearly identical shades of paint.  Louis feels a sharp little pang as he watches, because sure he’d told Harry he didn’t care when he’d been asked to help, but still, wasn’t this the kind of thing the _bosses_ should discuss, not some random cashier who’s only been officially employed for a few days?  Naturally, Zayn picks the _very same_ swatch that Harry had been thinking about, making Harry grin so wide you could collect rainwater in his dimples.

Louis polishes off the cupcake with lemon extract, deciding he likes it better than the other simply to spite Zayn even though he still can’t taste the difference between the two (hint: _it’s because there is none_ ).

The next topic Harry brings up is the issue of their logo, and _of fucking course_ Zayn just happens to be an artist, and all he has to do is whip out a pen and start sketching out an idea on a spare napkin before Harry’s pulling up a chair and watching him, fascinated.

Louis glares at the two before calling Niall over to help him move the final few boxes into the kitchen, getting them out of the way so they can paint the main seating area.  Louis makes sure to complain and grumble all through the job, thinking how horribly unfair his life is that the kid he hired is sitting on his arse, doodling away and charming his best friend while he’s busting his balls doing all the actual work.  He knows he’s being completely childish, but he feels like whining right now, so he indulges himself a bit.  By the time Louis comes back, Harry and Zayn are pulling on their jackets and getting their stuff together.

“Hey, Louis!  Check out this logo Zayn drew up.  Isn’t it great?” There’s sheer adoration dripping from Harry’s voice like syrup, sticking to Louis in all the wrong ways.

Louis peers at the napkin on the table, almost wincing as he sees the surprisingly well-drawn logo that Zayn sketched – and on a spare napkin, of all things. “Yeah, it’s…” he trails off, avoiding a definite answer, because no matter how much he dislikes Zayn he really can’t afford to pay for an actual professional design, and it’s not like he or Harry could hope to draw something up on their own. “Where are you two going?”

“We were just about to stop by the hardware store and pick up the paint.”

And even though it’s just an innocent trip to the hardware store, Louis can only imagine how they’ll bond on that one outing together. “No, no, you stay behind with Niall and prep the place to be painted.  I’ll go with Zayn,” he offers, grabbing his jacket and rushing to the door.

He’s relieved to see that neither of them are too torn up about not going together, and he wonders if maybe he was just being overdramatic (it certainly wouldn’t be the first time).  He just doesn’t like the idea of Harry getting hurt, and in Louis’s history, having a crush or getting into a relationship means just that.  Besides, what does he know about this Zayn kid?  For all he knows, this guy could just be trying to sleep with his boss to get better treatment at work.  All through uni, Louis and Harry only had each other to rely on, and so he's skeptical of anyone who tries to get close to Harry; he’s too naïve, too eager to make friends, and since he doesn’t have a guard to put up, Louis decided long ago to be his barrier.  Sure, he’s overprotective, but at least he can rest easy knowing Harry won’t get his heart broken anytime soon, because he thinks that seeing Harry in tears would make him positively homicidal, and Louis is far too pretty to go to prison.

The hardware store is only a few blocks away, so Louis uses that time to grill Zayn, not even trying to be subtle.  He thinks he can get away with it – figures Zayn will chalk it up to him being a worried boss just trying to make sure he hired the right employee, as there’s nothing obvious to tie his questions to Harry.  But there’s something in the way Zayn smirks a little that makes Louis feel like he can see right through him, makes him cross his arms over his chest and tuck his shoulders in as if to cover himself up.

“You’ve got the paint swatch with you, yeah?” Louis changes the subject abruptly, deciding to continue the interrogation later, when Zayn isn’t quite so suspicious of his intentions.

Zayn nods and fishes the sample out of his pocket. “It’s a really nice colour.”

“I’ll trust your judgment.  You _are_ an artist, after all.” It comes out a little cattier than he meant it to, but he doesn’t apologise.

Zayn pulls a face and gives Louis a confused glance, but he’s saved from having to explain away his sour attitude when they walk through the automatic doors to the hardware store.  Even though he’s never been much of a do-it-yourself kind of guy, he has to admit that he likes this place.  It smells nice, like garden mulch and pine shavings, and every time he walks in here he always leaves feeling the urge to renovate his entire flat and start a garden on his spectacularly tiny balcony.

“Paint section’s down here,” Zayn says, starting to lead the way, and Louis can’t even reply with a cold, “I know” because this place has already put him in a better mood.

“Right, what kind of paint finish did Harry say he wanted?”

Zayn sighs and walks up to the paint display shelf, inspecting the different brands and types and specialty sorts. “I don’t think he said.”

“He told me last night on the phone,” Louis says, sounding a little smug as he points out something Harry told him and not Zayn.

“So you forgot?”

Louis’s face falls. “I’ll ring him up,” he grumbles, waddling angrily off down the aisle and whipping out his mobile.  Harry answers on the third ring, slightly out of breath – probably from washing the walls and taping the baseboards, Louis realizes, and he definitely does _not_ picture how sweaty and pink and well-muscled he must look right about now as he makes up some bogus excuse about wanting to double check paint brands just to be safe (“You forgot, didn’t you?” Harry says immediately, and Louis gives an indignant huff before quietly coughing out, “Yeah, sorta”).

When Louis returns, repeating the brand name over and over in his head so as not to forget it again, he’s a little alarmed to see Zayn hiding behind one of the displays, peering out around the shelf.

“Zayn?” he calls uncertainly.

Zayn ducks down so fast he slams his jaw off the side of the shelf, knocking over a row of metal paint trays that land with a loud clatter, and he turns down to glare at the mess. “Shh!” he hisses, as though shushing inanimate metal trays will help his situation.

“Whatcha looking at?” Louis asks with a shit-eating grin, like he can’t tell Zayn is openly drooling over someone.

“Paint trays,” Zayn says, pointing at the mess on the floor and slowly ducking his head back around the shelf to check out the mystery man.

Louis leans over his shoulder and is equal parts impressed and surprised by what he sees.  The apple of Zayn’s eye seems to be the store employee currently stacking cans of primer, and though he looks to be well-built enough to suggest that he’s hardware store employee material, there’s something about his face that looks softer and warmer than one would expect from someone so strong and hands-on.  If he’d just seen him out on the street, Louis probably would have expected him to be a paramedic or something of the sort.  As attractive as he is, he’s not the kind of guy Louis had envisioned as Zayn’s type.  However, so long as Zayn’s type isn’t Harry, Louis finds himself liking this kid much more than he had five minutes ago.

“See something you like?”

“Shut up!” Zayn hides behind the shelf again, stooping down and scrambling to get all the paint trays back onto their display before someone notices.

“C’mon, let’s go talk to him about finding the kind of paint Harry wants.” Louis hitches his fingers around Zayn’s arm and tows him across the store, ignoring Zayn’s whining protests.

The man is looking at them before they’ve even arrived, brows furrowed slightly as he watches Zayn struggle to escape Louis’s death grip. “May I help you?”

Louis’s eyes flicker down to his nametag: _Liam_. “Yes, Liam, yes you may.  We’re looking for a brand of paint.  It…um,” _shit_ , “I think it starts with an ‘m’, probably.”

“You forgot again?” Zayn demands, more shocked than frustrated at this point.

“It’s no problem!  We have a few brands of paint that start with ‘m’, but this is the highest quality brand we stock.” Liam guides them through the aisle until he finds what he’s looking for, holding a can out for Louis to see.

“Oh!  Yes, yes, this name sounds familiar.  You’re a good man, Liam!” Louis claps his back appreciatively, and Liam gives him a warm – if not slightly uncertain – smile in return.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Zayn starts to protest, but Louis cuts him off. “As a matter of fact, there is.  My friend Zayn here is trying to assemble a wall unit, and he’s having a bit of trouble deciding whether to hammer or drill it together.  Tell me, do you think he’s better off nailed or screwed?”

Zayn whines and folds forward, hiding his face in his palms and muttering something along the lines of “gonna stuff that paint can down your throat”.  Louis just smiles up at Liam, awaiting his response.

The man must have the cleanest mind in the world, as he doesn’t seem to suspect a thing.  At least, if he does, he obviously gives Louis the benefit of the doubt and brushes it off as nothing more than poor wording. “I’m not that great with woodworking; I can try to find someone in that department for you, if you’d like?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.  I’m sure you’re plenty skilled enough with wood to please Zayn,” Louis says encouragingly.

Zayn jumps in, taking the can of paint from Louis’s hands and fixing him with a venomous glare out of the corner of his eyes. “Um, actually, I think that’s a project for another day.  We’ll just take this paint and be on our way.”

“Don’t you need it coloured first?” Liam points out.

“Oh…yeah, right.” Zayn’s cheeks flush pink.  Louis thinks his stomach might split open from the hysterical laughter he’s trying to swallow.

Despite all the fun he’s having watching Zayn squirm, Louis takes pity on him and hands the paint sample over to Liam so he can go mix up the paint.  He promises to be out in a few minutes before disappearing into the back room to prepare the colour, leaving Louis and Zayn alone.

Before Louis can get one word out, Zayn grabs a paintbrush off the shelf and smacks him over the head with it. “Nailed and screwed?  Really?”

“Hey, relax!” Louis crows, ducking and swatting Zayn’s hand away from his head. “I don’t think the guy even noticed the jokes; or at least, he was too polite to say anything.  You’re free to make your move on him as you please.”

“I’m not going to be making any moves.  I just want to get the paint and get out of here.”

“C’mon, you obviously fancy the guy; why not just ask him out?”

“Wait, why is my boss trying to set me up with a guy at the hardware store?  I don’t think this is standard protocol.”

“I care deeply about all my employees.”

Zayn, however, simply snorts. “If you care so deeply about me, let me handle the situation on my own, okay?”

“Oh, please?  I was going to make a joke about you two painting each others’ naked bodies when he got back.”

Zayn’s eyes nearly burst out of his head. “How could you have brushed that off as a pun, exactly?”

Louis just shrugs. “Being subtle wasn’t working, so I was going to try something a little more direct.”

Zayn picks up a roll of painters tape and looks at it thoughtfully for a moment. “Do you think this is strong enough to tape your mouth shut?”

“Someone’s bitter,” Louis grumbles.  He chalks it up to sexual frustration, though, and when Liam finally returns with the paint he even manages to refrain from making any other suggestive comments, though Zayn tenses up every time Louis so much as opens his mouth.

He seems relieved when they finally walk out of the hardware store, newly purchased paint in hand.  Louis, however, is only buzzing with more energy.  The way he sees it, he owes Zayn for being so rude to him when he thought the kid was sweet on Harry, and so o he has now made it his own personal mission to hook him up with Hardware Boy, whatever it takes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis gains a new outlook on cowboy hats, and opening day is a little more eventful than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for any errors, every beta I've ever turned to seemed to be busy or unable to beta for the remainder of the week and I wanted to get this posted so I hope the quality is okay!

The four spend the better part of a fortnight rushing to finish up all the renovations and plan the opening, and luck seems to be on their side as they finish right on schedule.  By Saturday afternoon everything is in place, ready for the grand opening Sunday morning.  Louis knows they’re cutting it a bit close, but on their budget they can’t afford to wait any longer before opening, so he’s glad to see everything in its place, from the bean grinders to the napkin dispensers.  Zayn even donates some of his paintings to help decorate the walls, which turns out to be life-saving as, when Harry is sent to a charity shop to pick up some cheap art, he returns with only a tacky painting of a cat in a leather jacket (Louis chucks the painting in the bin the instant he sees it, but is left with the nagging suspicion Harry smuggled it out and hung it up somewhere in his flat).

Harry brews everyone a cup of coffee to celebrate, even going so far as to draw fancy designs in the foam specifically for everyone.  Louis suspects Harry’s still angry at him for chucking the painting, as the design in his coffee is a rather sad-looking penis.  He drinks it anyway.

“So, what are we doing tonight to celebrate?” Niall asks.

“I thought this was it.” Zayn nods down at the coffee in his hand.

“Nah, we’ve got to do something proper, all four of us.”

“Niall’s right,” Louis agrees. “Who knows when we’ll all get the night off after we open?  We should go out for a round of drinks.”

“Don’t fall for it; as soon as he gets one shot in him, he suddenly flirts with every boy who so much as looks at him,” Harry warns good-naturedly.

“That’s because every boy who looks at me wants me terribly.  I’m quite a catch, you know.”

“Maybe we could help you pull.  Pick you out a sexy cowboy costume and get you oiled up, that kind of thing,” Zayn suggests.

“Is that how you like to picture Liam?” Louis says, because he’d much rather be making jokes than taking the brunt of them.

“Who’s Liam?” Harry asks, taking a sip of coffee and giving himself a white foam moustache.  Louis notices but doesn’t say anything, deeming it retribution for the penis in his coffee.

“Nobody,” Zayn says at the same time as Louis says, “Zayn’s would-be boy toy.”

“I figured that much out,” Harry’s foam-covered lips twist into a smirk. “I mean, what does he do?”

“He’s a sexy cowboy,” Louis supplies.

“I’m sure he is in Zayn’s fantasies, but what about in the real world?”

Zayn squeaks out an unintelligible protest.

“He works at the hardware store.”

“Ooh, that’s good.  He could help Zayn with all his screwing needs,” Harry jokes.

Louis shakes his head. “I already used that one, but I like the way you think.”

Zayn stares at the two of them, dumbfounded. “You two spend too much time together.  It’s a little creepy.”

“Right, then.  We’ll all go out for drinks tonight, and Zayn can go invite his ‘friend’ from the hardware store, get him piss-drunk, then bring him home so he can ride him like the cowboy Zayn wants him to be,” Louis decides.

“Sounds like a plan.” Niall nods.

“If any of you even think about going to the hardware store and speaking to him, I will _personally_ slip a whole carton of laxatives into your drinks,” Zayn warns.

Louis grins around the rim of his coffee cup and lets the subject go, deciding he’s done enough for one day.

+

They decide to go to some hot new gay bar just a few blocks away from Harry’s flat, and Louis is glad for the excuse to get himself all preened up again after dressing in ratty paint-covered clothes for so long.  Niall doesn’t even complain about the fact that they’re going to a gay bar, seeming to be more concerned with getting a few pints in his system and having a night out than trying to get laid.

Louis shows up at Harry’s door at half past ten, striking a pose the instant the door opens. “It took me ten minutes to squeeze into these jeans.  I blame you for making me taste your various baked goods,” he says casually, though he can’t complain – the extra calories seem to have gone to his arse, making it look exceptionally great in this outfit.

Harry gives a devious little smirk, his arms hidden suspiciously behind his back. “You know what would really complete the look?”

“I love you, mate, but I’m not taking fashion advice from someone who wore a bandana all through his first year of uni.”

Harry doesn’t pay the dig any mind, instead producing a large cowboy hat from behind his back. “Picked this up on the way home.  Thought you might appreciate it.”

“You thought wrong,” Louis murmurs, inspecting the atrocity with narrowed eyes. “Very, _very_ wrong.”

Harry places the hat atop Louis’s head, squashing the hair that he’d spent half an hour fluffing and styling.  Louis squawks and bats his hand away, but it’s too late; the damage has been done, and he knows he’ll be left with messy hat hair if he takes the stupid thing off now.

“There.  Yee-haw,” Harry grins.

Louis crosses his arms and sighs. “I’m very cross with you.”

“Hey, why did the cowboy get a dachshund?” Harry waits for Louis to answer, but he remains silent, tapping his foot with a petulant look on his face.  Harry presses on anyways. “Because he wanted to get a long little doggie.”

“Did you Google cowboy jokes when you got home, or did you buy the hat just so you could tell that joke?”

Harry pouts a little, and Louis knows immediately that one of his guesses was right. “We should get going, we were supposed to be there ten minutes ago.”

“We’re fashionably late.” Louis pauses when he remembers that he’s still wearing the hat. “Well, more ‘late’ than ‘fashionable’.”

“That hat cost me £10,” Harry sniffs as they head down the stairs and out the door, stepping into the cool night air.

“I didn’t exactly ask for this.”

“I’m a very thoughtful friend, so I bought it for you anyway.”

“I’ve got a lot of words in my mind right now, but ‘thoughtful’ isn’t one of them.”

Harry just laughs and leans over to pull the tip of Louis’s cowboy hat further down, adjusting it until he deems it perfect. “Everyone’s going to be so drunk, they won’t even notice it.”

“I’d like to be so drunk that  _I_ don’t even notice it,” Louis grumbles. “Speaking of which, is it okay if I stay with you tonight?  I'll head back home early tomorrow morning to get changed before we open, I just don’t trust myself to get home when I’m completely intoxicated.” And that’s a little bit of a lie, because it’s not that hard for someone to push a very drunk Louis into a taxi and tell the cabbie where to go.  Really, Louis just doesn’t want to go out for a whole night of partying only to return to an empty home to sober up on his own, but the only other option is getting some strange guy to come home with him, and he doesn’t really feel like that tonight.

Harry nods before Louis has even finished explaining. “Course.  You’re always welcome round mine, Lou; you know that.” Louis grins and bumps his hip against Harry’s in a silent ‘thank-you’, and for a few seconds they walk in comfortable silence until Harry speaks up in a shy voice. “Hey, um, don’t tell the other boys my cowboy joke, okay?  I want to tell it to them myself.”

Louis nods, laughs at the reproachful look on Harry’s face, and tips his hat stupidly. “You got it, partner.”

+

Louis wakes before sunrise the next morning with absolutely no recollection of the previous night, the shrill sound of his phone's alarm echoing through his pounding head.  His shirt is covered in a colourful stain that he thinks was the result of a spilled cocktail (though he doesn’t trust it for fear of it being something a little more suspicious) and his cowboy hat is lying next to him on the couch, bent and dented beyond recognition.  It’s a shame; he’d actually warmed up to the thing.

He finds a sticky note on the coffee table in Harry’s handwriting: ‘ _Gone to get breakfast.  Help yourself to a shower and one of my clean shirts. xx_ ” Louis perks up at the thought of a shower and peels off his shirt before he’s even off the couch, tossing it over by the door so he doesn’t forget it when he leaves.  His jeans seem relatively clean, which is good because Harry’s trousers are all too long and too narrow round the hips for Louis to try and squeeze his arse into – literally.

He takes the liberty of using Harry’s shampoo and shower gel, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it a little more than he should.  He’s always loved the way Harry smells, warm and familiar, and the thought of smelling like him feels a bit like he’s carrying a piece of Harry around with him for the day.  He doesn’t dwell on the thought too long for fear of realizing how un-platonic that is, and proceeds to towel himself off as best he can before pulling on one of Harry’s worn old indie band shirts.  It’s long and baggy and far too large for him, but it’s comfortable, and he likes it.

There’s still no sign of Harry by the time Louis finishes cleaning himself up, so he plops back down on the couch and places the now-pathetic looking cowboy hat back on his head and turns on the telly, flicking through all the channels even though he already knows nothing good will be on.  He wonders if this could be considered thumb-exercise.  He thinks it is, and decides that he’s done enough channel surfing to guarantee he could crush anyone in a thumb-wrestle.

Harry walks through the door just as he’s finished thinking it through, carrying a few grocery bags from the 24-hour convenience store down the block.  He’s barely set them down on the table and started to say hello when Louis cuts him off.

“Hey, Harry, thumb-wrestle me.”

He seems rather uncertain, but he holds out his hand anyway, and Louis has to bite back an evil cackle as he prepares to put his theory to the test.  It takes less than three seconds for Harry to effortlessly pin down Louis’s tiny thumb, and he stares down at Louis with wide, confused doe-eyes.

Louis blinks a few times before yanking his hand back and frowning. “Not fair, your thumb is, like, three times the size of mine,” he grumbles under his breath.

Harry grins and taps the cowboy hat on Louis’s head lightly. “I knew you liked this more than you let on.”

“Do not,” Louis says, pulling it off his head and stretching up on the tips of his toes to rest it on Harry’s head instead.

Harry turns back to the grocery bags, pulling out a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon. “Thought I’d make us a proper breakfast to prepare for the big day.”

“Really?  You want to cook a big breakfast in preparation of a big day that you'll spend cooking?”

“I’ll be _baking_ , not cooking.  Totally different.”

Louis doesn’t protest any further, never one to say ‘no’ to one of Harry’s meals, and perches himself on the edge of the counter to watch him cook, chatting away happily.  He thinks this is one of the best mornings he’s had in a while – considering he woke up in a banged-up cowboy hat.

+

The rest of the morning, though, is a bit of a disappointment.  Louis knows it’s silly, but he’d expected the place to be bustling and busy from the moment they opened the doors.  Instead, they’re creeping on their fourth hour, and a whopping six people have walked through the doors – all of which had been looking for Teasdale's Tea Time, and only _three_ of which had bought something anyway.  Louis wonders if he could win a medal; surely it takes quite a bit of skill to have so few customers on a busy weekend in this part of the city.

However, seven proves to be their lucky number.

The chime over the door tinkles brightly, announcing the arrival of another potential customer, and all four boys instantly perk up at the sudden noise.  A young girl who looks to be about fourteen walks through the door, mobile in hand.  She doesn’t even look away from the text message she’s evidently absorbed in composing as she walks up to the counter and orders an iced caramel macchiato.  Louis doesn’t think that’s on the menu, but Niall seems to know how to make it and they’re not in any place to turn away business.

“Is there anything else?” Zayn asks as he rings up her order.

The girl looks up suddenly, like she hadn’t been expecting that voice, and her eyes widen as she sees Zayn.  Slowly, she scans over the other three boys, looking more and more pleased as she does, and Louis can practically see the hearts in her eyes as she looks back at Zayn and shakes her head no.

Louis almost feels a bit bad for the girl, who’s obviously fallen for a boy who’s not only far out of her age group, but who also happens to be smitten with a bodybuilder-type bloke from the local hardware store.  But, hey, at least she’ll probably come back here if for no other reason than to drool over Zayn, and they could use the return business.

Harry takes the liberty of drawing a little smiley face on the side of the cup for her before handing it to her with a dimpled grin, and oh yeah, that girl is _definitely_ coming back.  There isn’t a soul alive who could resist that kind of smile from Harry – this Louis knows from experience.

The girl takes her drink and fishes out her phone, hurriedly typing out another message like her life depends on it as she walks out of the shop.

Within twenty minutes, a whole herd of teenaged girls arrive, who then bring with them their teenaged boyfriends, and then parents start following suit, and before the morning is over the whole shop is packed.  Louis can’t quite figure out why until he sees a girl bat her lashes flirtatiously in Niall’s direction.

“Jamie was right, the guys here _are_ fit,” she says to her friend with a giggle.  Niall just clears his throat and turns a shade of pink, like he can’t figure out how to respond to a girl ten years his junior flirting with him.

Louis hadn’t planned on getting business through people falling for his (admittedly very attractive) staff, but hey – whatever works.  He loves this feeling, seeing all their hard work pay off.  He and Zayn are both madly trying to man the tills, and Niall and Harry are up to their necks in orders, but it just puts a bit of spring in Louis’s step to know that things are working out.  He just feels so _happy_.

There finally comes a little lull in the store traffic, leaving Louis to pop out on his scheduled lunch break, and as much as he’d love to sneak a cupcake into the break room and take a short nap, he knows he’s on a mission.  He grabs one of the flyers they made to advertise their opening day and heads out onto the street, making his way to the hardware store.  Zayn had better thank him for this.

+

Liam shows up only half an hour before closing, cutting it rather close.  Louis was starting to think he wasn’t going to show up at all, to which he had taken quite a bit of offense because he’d basically humiliated himself trying to convince a complete stranger to show up to his coffee shop (but as soon as he’d said “My friend Zayn – you remember, the guy who wanted to put together the wall unit? – well, he’d really like it if you came,” Liam had seemed much more fond of the idea).

Zayn’s just in the middle of replacing the receipt roll when Liam walks in, and Louis immediately steps away from his till, leaving only Zayn to take his order.

“Hi there, may I–” Zayn stops short when he sees Liam in front of him, ready to order, and turns to glare at Louis, who just grins smugly in return.  He’s not sure how Zayn knew it was him, but he’s not going to deny it because he wants to be able to take credit for this when they get married.

Liam contemplates his order despite the fact that Zayn still seems unable to finish his sentence. “I don’t really know a lot about coffee, to be honest.  What would you recommend?”

Zayn looks like Liam just asked him how to diffuse a bomb.  He stiffens up and clears his throat, speaking carefully, like his life depends on this answer. “Well, what kind of flavours do you like in your coffee?”

“I usually like it to be hot, sweet, and mocha-y.”

“Then Zayn is definitely your guy!” Louis interjects.

Zayn flushes three shades pinker. “Would you shut up?” he hisses over his shoulder.

“Oh, come on.  There’s no _way_ he didn’t say that on purpose,” Louis whispers.

Zayn’s eyes narrow into a warning glare as he stares Louis down, but he makes sure to carefully rearrange his features into a polite smile before turning back to Liam. “Niall makes a mean café mocha,” he offers.

Liam nods. “I’ll take your word for it.” He hands over the money with a smile so dazzling, Louis can’t blame Zayn for the way his fingers shake as he accepts the notes.

“Okay, one café mocha, coming right up for you, Liam!” Zayn says, then freezes. “I mean, um, that is your name, right?  Just so I can write it on your cup.”

Louis wants to smack Zayn round the back of his head because if he was going to try to play dumb to seem aloof, the least he could do is play it _well_.  However, Liam just nods, taking his change and letting his palm hover close under Zayn’s fingers just a few seconds too long to be accidental.  Louis isn’t sure, but he thinks he hears Zayn let out a quiet whimpering sound in the back of his throat.

“Okay, now’s your moment.  Write your number on the cup,” Harry says as Niall starts to brew Liam’s drink.

“That’s way too cliché!” Zayn protests.

“So cliché, it’s romantic.  It’s like you’re doing it ironically.  You’re the hipster-type, you should know all about that,” Louis says.

Zayn grabs the cup and writes Liam’s name on it, taking care to write it neatly.  He seems to decide it’s not good enough, though, and discards it with a crinkled nose before trying to write it again on a fresh cup. “I’m not doing it.”

Louis glances over and winks at Harry, who acknowledges the signal with a discrete thumbs up.  He slyly takes the receipt from the counter and pulls out his own mobile, using it for reference as he jots down Zayn’s number on it.

Louis makes sure to do his job as the distraction while Harry works. “Well, fine.  If you’re not going to give him your number, at least offer to show him what _real_ hot, sweet mocha tastes like, and throw in a wink.  Being cheeky and confident is very attractive.”

Zayn throws the rejected cup at Louis, handing the good one to Niall so he can fill it with the coffee. “You’re an arse.”

“A great one,” Harry provides, slipping the receipt on the counter and reaching over to slap Louis’s bum playfully.

Niall and Zayn exchange an uncertain look, like they’re not sure if that’s flirting or platonic.  Louis is sure they’ll get over it soon, once they understand how their friendship works.  Harry, being his best mate, is the only one allowed to touch Louis’s bum.  That’s all it is.

“Liam?” Zayn calls out, pretending to have to read the cup to remember his name.

Liam heads over to the counter, giving Zayn a warm smile as he takes the cup and tries a small sip, blowing the steam off the top. “It’s really good.  Thanks for the suggestion,” he says with a nod of approval.

“ _I’m_ the one who made it,” Niall grumbles, but his complaint seems to go unnoticed.

Liam starts to walk away, drink in hand, but Harry calls him back.

“Don’t forget your receipt!”

“You can just toss it,” Liam replies, waving goodbye as he pads out the door.

Zayn crumples up the slip of paper and drops it in the bin before turning to clean up one of the newly-vacated tables, leaving Harry and Louis to exchange disappointed grimaces.  Okay, so that hadn’t worked like he’d hoped.  However, in his defense, it _was_ a really great plan, and if this had been a cheesy romantic comedy, it totally would have worked.  Louis wonders if he’s ever thrown away something that some hopeful, lovesick cashier has written his number on.  He decides to make a point of carefully checking all his receipts before tossing them from hereon out, just to be safe.

Even though Plan A was a complete bust, he doesn’t give up hope.  Instead, he spends the rest of the day brainstorming other ideas on how to hook up the two, and makes a mental note to watch a slew of romantic films when he gets home tonight for inspiration.


	5. Chapter 5

Though Zayn tries to act normal at work, Louis can see the way he perks up every time the door opens – no doubt checking to see if it’s Liam.  So far, Liam has shown up every day since opening, always at the same time.  On Tuesday, he came in when Zayn was out on break and made a point of sitting at the closest table to the counter until he returned.  Louis makes a note to always schedule Zayn to work afternoon shifts so he can be around for Liam’s visits.

Sure enough, Liam shows up at his standard time of 4:15, calloused hands covered in dried paint from his day at work.  Zayn absently fiddles with his uniform, smoothing it out and making sure just the right amount of buttons are undone on his collar before taking his place up at the register.  Louis leans on the counter next to Niall, who’s propped up against it from his spot in the kitchen, and they both watch in silence with matching grins on their faces.

“Hi, Zayn.  How are you?” Liam asks, genuine interest in his voice.

Zayn shrugs and ducks his head awkwardly. “Good!  Good, yeah.  Good,” he repeats airily. “What about you?  How’s work?”

“Long.  Could use another café mocha to make my day better.”

“He should just ask Zayn to help make his day better.  I’m sure he could make him feel _real_ good,” Louis mutters, making Niall cackle.

Zayn slides his hand behind his back, discreetly flipping the bird at the two boys. “Sure thing, coming right up.”

Niall gets to work making the coffee, and Zayn picks up a cup to write Liam’s name on it in his neatest writing, as always.

“You should just ask him out.  He obviously fancies you; hell, he comes here every day just to see you,” Louis murmurs once Liam has left the counter.

“He comes here to buy coffee,” Zayn says, like Louis is insane for thinking anything else.

“Yeah, that’s the reason he always gets in your queue instead of Louis’s, even if yours is longer,” Niall snorts sarcastically, pouring the coffee into Liam’s cup and adding a dollop of whipped cream on top.

“Maybe he just doesn’t like Louis.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“No offense.”

Niall finishes pouring a few other drinks, accidentally losing Liam’s in the mix.  He searches through the cups before finding the one he’s looking for. “Lim?” he calls out, trying his best not to laugh.

“Lim?” Zayn repeats, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, one café mocha for Lim.”

“You idiot, that says ‘Liam’,” Zayn insists.

“That’s not what the cup says.

“I wrote ‘Liam’, you’re just reading it wrong.”

“You wrote ‘Lim’,” Niall says, holding out the cup for Zayn to read.

“Oh my God, I wrote ‘Lim’.” Zayn groans, looking like his world is coming to a slow, agonizing end.

Liam glances up uncertainly, trying to determine whether or not he is ‘Lim’. “Is…is that me?”

“Yeah.  Sorry, Zayn wrote ‘Lim’ because he was so busy talking about you,” Louis says bluntly.

Zayn lets out a very forced laugh. “Oh, Louis, you’re so funny!  He’s such a kidder,” he insists. “I was just saying…um, that it’s really cool that we both love café mochas so much.”

Louis rolls his eyes and turns to the cash register, tallying up this hour’s sales, but still listening in to their conversation.

“So, there’s a little barbeque at the hardware store this weekend.  Nothing big – just an event to get rid of the patio furniture left in stock before winter– but there’s going to be a lot of free food and some live music.  You should stop by.”

“Yeah, we’d love to,” Zayn says, and _fucking hell,_ Louis thinks, is he really that thick?  He’s basically just turned a very casual one-on-one meet up into a group outing.

Liam sounds a little let down when he speaks again, but being _Liam_ , he’s still just as polite as ever. “Oh, great!”

“Actually, Harry and Niall are working Saturday, and I’ve got a thing planned, so we can’t make it.  Zayn’s free, though,” Louis says, trying to fix Zayn’s mess.

“Yeah, but that _thing_ isn’t really important, is it?  I’m sure you can reschedule,” Zayn says a little forcefully before turning back to Liam. “He’ll make it, don’t worry.”

“Glad to hear it.  I’ll see you later, then.  Bye, Zayn.” Liam gives a little nod goodbye before leaving the restaurant, coffee in hand, and Louis doesn’t miss the way Zayn’s eyes follow his ass longingly as he leaves.

+

Thursday afternoon is cold and windy and drizzly, and it fills Louis’s flat with the sound of rain smattering against his window as he pulls on his most proper clothes.  It’s basically just an old work-casual suit he used to wear, back when he was still an assistant, but it’ll work just fine for tonight.  He hopes.  He’s had these dinner plans for weeks now, since he first bought the coffee shop; tonight will be the night he sits down and tells his family that he’s now a real business owner.  His family has always pushed him (granted, a little too hard) to be successful, forcing him into a business degree back when he was young and naïve and wanted to major in theatre instead, making sure he had connections in all the right places to get the best internships available in his field during university.  He can only imagine how pleased they’ll be to see that he went from an insignificant office hand to being the head of his own business.

His mobile buzzes just before he leaves, and he sees a new message from Harry: _Good luck tonight, pal! Xx_   Louis’s face lights up just as bright as his phone screen at that.  He types out a quick reply, promises to text him tonight as soon as he gets back, and then slips his phone into his pocket, knowing that, by the end of the night all his hard work will have paid off, and he will finally feel like he's accomplished something in his family’s eyes.

Dinner turns out to be at a posh Italian restaurant, and because Louis is still a little traumatized from ordering ‘cock-a-vine’ at that French restaurant with Harry and Mr. Cowell, he scans the menu right away and picks out the few things he’s confident he can pronounce.  It’s nice to see his whole family here, and he takes in the changes in his his parents and younger sister.  He’s always amazed at how much different his sister is each time he sees her, growing up into the proper young socialite that his mum wants her to be now that she's eighteen.  He feels increasingly like the black sheep of the family, though, like he’s intruding on someone else’s family dinner, but he hopes – _knows_ – that will change after tonight.

He makes the announcement right after their main courses arrive, a round of remarkably small servings on ridiculously large plates.  His mother is gossiping away about one of her friends’ marriage trouble (though Louis doubts you could actually call them friends, considering the glee she seems to be taking in the conversation).

Louis waits for a break in the conversation before taking a long sip of wine for courage and clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention. “I have an announcement to make.”  Everyone looks up at him with polite interest.  Louis feels a nervous lump rise up in the throat, which is silly, he knows, but it takes an extra gulp of wine to wash it away.

“Slow down with the wine, dear,” his mum tuts.

Louis nods and sets his drink aside.  It wasn’t helping much, anyways; it just made him wish he’d brought along a flask of good vodka instead. “I bought a restaurant.  Well, more specifically, a coffee shop.”

Everyone at the table looks up at him, meeting him with blank stares and silence for a few moments.  His father raises his eyebrows a touch and exchanges a concerned glance with his mother before speaking. “Might I ask where you found the money for this?  Because I certainly don’t recall you mentioning you won the lottery.”

And yeah, Louis is _definitely_ craving some good vodka right now because this was not the reaction he’d been anticipating. “Well…we took out a loan—”

His mum cuts him off. “We?  Who, pray tell, is this ‘we’?”

“Harry and I,” Louis admits quietly, and he’s really fucked now because he _knows_ how much his family disapproves of him spending so much time with Harry.  Ever since they found out Harry came from a low-income family and wanted to go into such a ‘disrespected and pointless’ (his father's words) field as culinary arts, they made sure Louis never forgot about their disapproval of the two spending so much time together.

His father drops his fork on his plate with a loud _clank_ , pushing it away from him as if he’d lost his appetite. “Oh, great.  Just great.”

“It’s going well!  We’re making good profits so far, our staff is small but they’re dedicated, and I’m _happy_.”

“That’s great.  Let me know how _happy_ you are when you’re buried in debt and have to declare bankruptcy,” Louis’s father snaps.

“Oh, God.  Lucy Harper's parents went bankrupt two months ago, and now nobody will even _talk_ to her.  Is that going to happen to us?” his sister asks, turning to her mother with a worried pout.  Louis feels sick.

“Can’t you just be excited for me?  I’m doing something I love with my best friend and things are going great so far.  Maybe things will work out.”

“I didn’t put you through school and set you up with all the best connections in the field just so you could go sell cookies with some fruitcake in the hopes that ‘ _maybe_ ’ things would work out!”

“What do you mean ‘fruitcake’?  In case you’ve forgotten, I’m gay, too!” Louis can feel his temperature rising, feel his heart pounding against his ribcage like it’s about to explode.

“Keep your voice down,” his mum hisses, casting a glance around the restaurant to see if anyone heard him.

His father, however, presses on, ignoring Louis completely. “How do you expect to take care of yourself -- your _family_ , when the time comes?  You could have had a steady career with good pay and job security and the opportunity for actual promotions!”

“But I would have been miserable.”

“You can’t have everything, Louis.  Sometimes, doing what’s best means making sacrifices.  I know you grew up having everything handed to you, but I always hoped you’d learn that nothing worth having in life comes freely.” His father pauses for a moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw before speaking again. “Okay.  Okay, there’s still some hope here.  I’ll pay off your loan and do what I can to help you get your job back as an assistant.  I’ll need to pull a lot of strings, but it can be done.  You tell that Styles kid to go frost his cupcakes somewhere else, sell the shop, and we can all just pretend this never happened.”

Louis feels like his lungs are being slowly crushed. “What?” he chokes.

“You don’t have to answer now; give it some time, think it over.  I’ll give you until Christmas.  That should give you some time to wrap up this quarter and see the profit margin for yourself.  Maybe that'll give you the wakeup call you need.” Louis’s father says, flagging down a waiter and handing over his credit card to pay for the meal, effectively ending dinner.

Louis sits there, frozen as he stares at his plate.  His family pulls on their coats and stands up, murmuring amongst themselves.  He can’t make out what they’re saying, but he’s not sure he wants to.

“Oh, and Louis?” His father says, turning over his shoulder to look back at him as they start to leave. “If you decide not to accept my offer, don’t bother getting in touch with us again.”

Louis doesn’t remember much about leaving the restaurant, just knows that, when he finally snaps out of the thick haze clouding his mind, he’s sitting in a cab whizzing back into the city.  He finds himself telling the cabbie to drop him off at the nearest bar rather than taking him home, even though he’s still dressed in his posh dinner clothes.  He knows he can’t let himself sulk in the cold, empty darkness of his flat all by himself; he needs a good shag with a boy who’ll be gone by morning, needs an unlimited supply of hard liquor, and he needs to quit _thinking_ , so hey.   Bar it is.

Upon his arrival, it takes him less than ten minutes to get comfortably buzzed and find himself a bloke who offers to pay for all the drinks it will take for him to go from buzzed to wasted.  The guy’s not too bad – fit, but not really Louis’s type – but he knows that he’ll barely notice who he’s fucking at the end of the night, with all the alcohol he plans on getting in his system.  He's holding Louis’s hips in his hands, pulling ass to groin, grinding against it, and it’s all need, no emotion, no tenderness.  It’s exactly what Louis needs.  His mobile buzzes in his pocket but he ignores it, too caught up in grinding his hips along with the beat, slow and dirty and sinful.  He breaks away long enough to grab another shot, pulling the boy along with him through the crowd, and doesn’t bother heading back to the dance floor, instead pulling the boy’s mouth down to his.  It’s all tongue and teeth and stubble scraping against his jawline, and it’s enough feeling for him to lose himself in.  He breaks out of the kiss for air and cranes up on the tips of his toes, whispers an invitation to come over into the boy’s ear, and the boy mumbles out a ‘yeah’ into the sweat-sheened skin of Louis’s throat.

And, like that, Louis forgets about everything that his father said.

+

When Louis wakes up the next morning, he can hear the sound of his shower running, smell unfamiliar cologne clinging to the pillow next to him, taste the stale liquor on his own breath, and he feels a bit like rolling over the edge of the bed, throwing up on the floor, and curling up into a little ball in the sheets for the rest of the day.  He knows he can’t; his shift at Big Bean starts at noon, and it’s already almost eleven, so with a groan he pulls himself out of bed and trudges into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“Wanna join me in the shower?” the boy (whose name Louis can’t remember) asks, sticking his head out from behind the shower curtain and flashing him a cheeky grin.

The idea of fucking a stranger when he’s sober isn’t quite so promising, and there’s something about the brightness of morning that seems too pure for him to besmirch, so he politely declines.  It seems to reestablish the boundaries, and the boy clears his throat awkwardly, promises to leave as soon as he’s finished his shower.  Louis doesn’t protest.

He grabs his mobile and heads out of the bedroom, spitting out the mouthful of toothpaste in the kitchen sink to avoid the other boy as much as possible.  He winces upon seeing 6 missed calls from Harry over the course of last night, as well as several text messages and a new voicemail message.  He types out a quick message ( _soz mobile died last nite . see u at work xx)_ and tries not to let the guilt swallow him up.  The message sends, and just moments later is marked as read, but thankfully Harry doesn’t reply.  He’s probably saving his questions until he sees Louis face-to-face at work, anyway.

Louis thanks his lucky stars for dry shampoo and cologne, as it saves him a shower this morning.  He looks a little bit like death, but he can deal with it for one day.

The boy, freshly showered and sporting the same (now wrinkled) clothes he wore last night, steps out of the shower, ruffling his wet hair. “Thanks for a fun night.”

Louis forces a meek smile, not wanting to seem like a _total_ dick. “You, too.”

“Um, here’s my number.” The boy holds out a small yellow sticky note with his number scrawled across the front, flashes Louis a grin as he takes it. “Call me sometime, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure.” Louis watches the boy as he leaves, waits until he hears the door close behind him and the sound of footsteps fading down the hall.  He turns and rips up the note over the bin and blinks past the tears of self-pity wetting at his eyelashes.  He will _not_ just sit here and feel sorry for himself; sure, last night sucked, but he got a great shag and some free drinks out of it, so it wasn’t a total loss.  Now, it’s time to pick himself up and move on.

He forces himself to keep his chin up until he arrives at work, still looking like shit, but at least he feels a bit better.  He’s only meant to work with Harry for half an hour; hopefully, Harry will save his questions and concerned looks for another day, because Louis really doesn’t want to deal with it today.  He doesn’t need anyone else to take care of him; not his parents, not Harry, not _anyone_.

“Hey, boss-man,” Niall cheers as soon as Louis enters the kitchen.

Louis winces at the loud noise bouncing off the tile, reverberating around the room. “Inside voices,” he pleads, covering his ear.

“You look extremely hung-over,” Zayn notes.

Harry gives Louis a severe look, lips pressing into a tight line, and Louis can see the gears working in his head, piecing up the missed phone calls last night, the dinner with his ever-disapproving family, and now his incredible hangover.  He always sees right through Louis, never one to be fooled by his fake smiles and forced jokes.

Louis ignores him, acting as though he doesn’t notice the dark expression on Harry’s face. “I am, yes.  I’d like a cup of coffee, please.  Strongest we have,” he says to Niall, who nods and starts brewing it immediately.

Harry grabs a muffin and hands it to Louis without being asked, still fretting away over him. “Louis, could I speak to you in the staff room?”

“I think someone should stay and watch the till,” Louis says, nibbling away at the muffin and trying to ignore the vodka-induced nausea.  He vows never to drink again, but he already knows that promise won’t last any longer than eight hours.

“Zayn, watch the till.  Louis, staff room.” Harry leads the way, brow furrowed darkly, and Louis follows him with an exasperated sigh.

“Can I help you?” Louis asks through a mouthful of half-chewed muffin.

“Drop the act, Louis.  I know something happened with your family yesterday.”

“Last night was fine.  In fact, it was so fine, I decided to go out to a club and get drunk to celebrate.”

“I’m sure,” Harry says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

“Because there’s nothing to talk about.  I told them about the coffee shop, they said they were proud of me, and we all joined hands and talked about our feelings like a big, happy family and sang 'Kumbaya' together.  The end.”

“Stop trying to joke your way out of this and tell me what’s wrong,” Harry says, nostrils flaring.

Louis’s hands clench into fists at his side, because who the fuck is Harry to tell him what to do?  He doesn’t get it; his parents were always so supportive, always wanted him to be happy, never had any expectations for him beyond doing what he loved.  So how can he even _think_ he might understand this?  Does he not get that maybe Louis just doesn’t want to talk about it? It’s not as if Louis owes him any sort of explanation.  He’s never been the type to talk about whatever’s bugging him, and Harry fucking _knows_ that.  Besides, all Harry’s going to do is pity him, and the thought of being pitied by anyone – especially his own best friend – makes Louis feel sick. “Stop trying to pump me for information!  Even if something _was_ wrong, I’m fine on my own; I can take care of myself.  I don’t need you.  And this is _definitely_ none of your business.  Just fucking leave me alone.” Louis snaps, voice dripping with venom.

Harry freezes, all traces of anger and concern slowly draining out of his face, leaving him staring back at Louis with blank, glassy eyes.  He opens his mouth as if to speak, but seems to think the better of it, pushing his way past Louis and out of the room without another word.  Louis buries his face in his palms and sinks into the chair in the corner of the room, whispering a constant stream of “ _fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_ ” and praying that the ceiling will collapse in on him and crush him, wishing he’d just kept his damned mouth shut.


	6. Chapter 6

The highlight of Louis’s Saturday afternoon turns out to be getting a wiener shoved in his face.

“Hot dog?” Liam asks, holding out a platter full of them.

Louis shakes his head, wishing Zayn hadn’t dragged him along this afternoon.  He’s spent the entire time staring at reasonably priced outdoor furniture that won’t fit on the balcony of his flat, watching two sex-starved men try to drop hints that the other just can’t seem to pick up.

“C’mon, Louis, they’re great!” Zayn insists through a mouthful of his fifth hot dog.  Naturally, since Liam’s the one grilling them, he can’t seem to shut up about how wonderful they are, but it’s only a matter of time before he eats too many and has to excuse himself to go puke in a plant pot.

“Thanks, but I’m hot dog intolerant,” Louis says, slowly shifting away from them, hoping he can go find something else to distract himself with.  He likes looking at all this outdoorsy stuff, even if he doesn’t have room for it.  Maybe he’ll buy a little plant.  Yeah, a plant.  It’ll be like having a cat, but without the commitment or hair on his couch.

“Is that really a thing?” Liam asks in a whisper, leaving Louis to wonder if he’s a bit thick, or if he’s just giving Louis the benefit of the doubt for fear of making fun of an actual condition.

Zayn, however, just giggles (did he actually _giggle_?  Oh, he’s never going to live that one down) and shakes his head. “No, Louis is just being a prick.”

Louis takes a little bow. “It’s what I do,” he says flatly. “Hey, Liam, where are your houseplants?”

Liam lights up, pleased to hear that Louis is about to leave him and Zayn alone.  Louis can’t even be offended, he’s so glad to escape. “Aisle nine.  We’ve got plant food on sale.”

“How fortuitous.” Louis turns away from the patio display only to feel Zayn’s hand claw at his upper arm, pulling him back.

“You’re really going to leave me?”

“Didn’t you hear Liam?  Plant food is on sale.  It’s like destiny is telling me to buy a houseplant.” Louis shrugs out of Zayn’s grip and heads off to aisle nine.  He has no idea how long it will take before Zayn finally plucks up the courage to ask Liam out on a proper date, but hey, it’s not like Louis has anything better to do on a Saturday afternoon than hang around and look at plants, right? (The sad thing is, it’s actually a little true.)

It takes plenty of thoughtful consideration and contemplation, but he finally finds a cute little cactus in a cute little pot with a cute little ribbon and he wonders why anyone ever bothers with cats or dogs or boyfriends when they could just have a plant.  Sitting on the shelf next to the small cactus (which he’s already affectionately named Phil) is another cactus, taller and thinner but still contained in one of the tiniest flower pots he’s ever seen.  It makes him think of Harry, and that thought brings with it a pang of guilt as he remembers all the things he said yesterday.  He picks up the other cactus, deciding to keep the little round one for himself and give the taller one (he names it Paul) to Harry.  Matching plants are cute, right?  It’s just like a more mature version of having best friend necklaces.  He picks up both cactuses and heads to the checkout, holding on to the bottom of the pots and avoiding the spines as best he can.

Zayn’s already waiting for him at the front of the store, looking incredibly ill. “There you are,” he grumbles as soon as he sees Louis.

“How many hot dogs did you eat?”

Zayn burps loudly in response.

“Cute.”

“Why are you buying cactuses?” Zayn asks, rubbing his slightly bloated stomach gingerly.

“I’m buying them because they’re adorable, and I need a plant.” Louis heads to the self-checkout, tries to scan the barcodes without filling his hand with cactus spines.

“Why are you buying two?”

“So the other doesn’t get lonely,” Louis replies sarcastically, ignoring the automated voice that keeps yelling at him to ‘put the item in the bagging area’.

“You’re about as much of a prick as those cactuses,” Zayn grumbles, experimentally poking at one of the spines.

“Clever.  How’d your afternoon with Liam go?  Did he put his wiener between your buns?” And, yeah, it’s not the cleverest of digs, but he can’t help it.  He chaperoned this not-date, he’s allowed to make whatever jokes he likes.

“You’re awful.  Well, Liam wanted to come over and take a look at my paintings tomorrow afternoon.  He’s really interested in them,” he gushes.

“I’m sure it has _nothing_ to do with coming over to your place and being within feet of your bedroom.”

“He’s not like that!  He’s really sweet.”

“Then I guess it’s up to you to corrupt him.”

Zayn rolls his eyes but otherwise ignores the comment, spending the rest of the walk back to Big Bean talking about how _great_ Liam is and how _funny_ Liam is and how _great_ Liam’s hot dogs taste (Louis doesn’t even make another wiener joke because at this point it’s basically implied).

Louis walks into the shop, Paul and Phil balanced lovingly in each hand, when he suddenly notices some hipster-y looking boy leaning over the counter, chatting Harry up.  He’s got thick-rimmed glasses that he probably doesn’t even need, and he’s got a cup of Starbucks coffee in his hand, which – really?  Did he actually come in here to a _coffee shop_ just to get cozy with Harry with another franchise’s piping hot coffee in his overly-manicured little hand?

“Can I help you?” Louis asks loudly, leaning over the counter next to the strange boy.

“Oh, Louis!  This is Ashe Dexter.  He owns that art gallery downtown that Zayn was talking about,” Harry explains, and Zayn’s practically drooling over his own feet at the realization that he’s facing one of his heroes.

“Ashe, huh?  Like Ash Ketchum, from Pokemon?  Do you wanna be the very best?” Louis starts humming the Pokemon theme under his breath, feeling secretly delighted as he hears Harry break out in giggles.  If Harry’s laughing at his jokes, surely they’re one step closer to getting over that little fight yesterday, right?

Ashe flashes Louis a condescending smile. “No, not quite.  There’s an ‘E’ on the end, actually.”

Louis can’t help rolling his eyes. “Well, what brings you to our fine establishment?  Because it’s clearly not the coffee.” He adds a pointed look to the Starbucks cup in his hand.

Ashe sighs and turns to face Harry once again. “I was just going to ask Harry if he’d like to cater a gala being held next month to celebrate the new Van Gogh exhibit, featuring _The Flowering Orchard_ , on temporary loan.”

“What?  How long is it going to be there?” Zayn’s voice is growing high and giddy, like an eager little child's. “Oh, I bet the lines are going to be _outrageous_.”

Ashe shrugs, gets this cocky little look on his face that Louis wants to wipe off with his cactus. “If Harry agrees to cater the event, I wouldn’t mind letting him bring along a plus-one.”

Louis frowns a little, because he’d at least hoped he could badmouth this Ashe guy once he’d left, but it’s no fun if everyone is on _his_ side. “We don’t cater, actually.  Thanks for stopping by, tell the crew at Starbucks I said ‘hello'.”

Ashe clears his throat. “I don’t think I was speaking to you, actually,” he says before turning back to Harry. “Everyone is just _raving_ about the food here, and they weren’t wrong when they said the head baker was adorable.”

Harry bites his lip around a grin and tugs at Louis’s sleeve, looking a bit like a reproachful toddler. “Louis, could I speak to you in the kitchen for a moment?”

Louis sighs and nods, following after him dutifully with his cactuses still in hand, because if this starts to go downhill maybe he can offer up a plant as a peace offering.

“Okay, I know this is meant to be _our_ business, but…do you think it would be okay if I catered this event as a side gig?  Just…just on my own.  It wouldn’t have anything to do with Big Bean, and I won’t serve anything from our menu.”

Louis lets out a short laugh. “You hardly need my _permission_ , Harry.  You can do whatever you like, so long as I don’t have anything to do with it.  I never want to see that smug little hipster ever again.”

“Deal.” Harry nods, face lighting up.  He suddenly seems to take note of the cactuses, and points to them with a furrowed brow. “Why do you have two cactuses?”

“Because I don’t trust myself to take care of a cat.  Take good care of Paul,” he says, handing over the taller cactus.

“Paul?”

“He needs a name.  Otherwise, it just gets too confusing when I try to separate him from Phil,” Louis explains, holding up his own cactus.

Harry shakes his head and hands the plant back. “I can’t have a cactus around the house.  You know how often I babysit my niece, she’d probably find it and hurt herself.”

Louis grimaces. “Fine, we’ll put him up around the restaurant for decoration.  But you’re taking care of him.”

“Okay, sure, whatever you say,” Harry says distractedly, craning his neck as he hears Ashe laugh loudly (obnoxiously so, if Louis may say so himself). “I’ve gotta go talk to Ashe about the catering gig.  Good luck with your plants.”

Louis slams the taller plant on the counter a little harder than strictly necessary for dramatic effect, but the pot slips through his hand and he winds up with a palmful of cactus spines.  He lifts his hand to his mouth and sucks at the wound, silently blaming Ashe for his injury without any specific reason.

+

Louis winds up feeling a little bad for not being excited with Harry about his catering gig, so he stops to pick up some wine to celebrate.  He splurges to buy real, proper wine – it doesn’t even come in a box.  That, he thinks, is true friendship.

He texts Harry as soon as he gets home, telling him to come over for a surprise.  Harry replies almost instantly and promises to be there no later than eight, leaving Louis with just over an hour to hang the streamers he bought at the 97p store and blow up a few balloons.  It winds up looking a bit like a pathetic kid’s birthday party, so instead Louis throws the balloons at the cactus to see how many he can pop from his spot on the couch until Harry arrives.

The answer turns out to be ‘all of them’, as Harry doesn’t knock on the door until half past nine. “Sorry I’m late, Ashe took me out for dinner after he showed me around the gallery.  He even gave me a _private_ tour after it closed, can you believe it?”

“Mixing business with pleasure, lovely,” Louis says, and of course it’s Ashe’s fault, because even though Louis has only known him for about five hours he’s already figured out a way to blame every misfortune in his entire life on the man.

Harry collapses on the couch next to Louis, eyes bright and eager. “So, what’s the surprise?” He elbows Louis gently in the ribs over and over, prodding him for an answer before Louis even has the chance to give him one.

“I thought we’d celebrate your fancy-shmancy catering gig with some wine and cheese,” Louis says, heading over to the fridge and pulling out the bottle and cheese platter. “Look, I even bought good wine that doesn’t taste like a soggy boot.”

“Are those cut-up cheese strings on a platter?”

“Hey, good wine is expensive.  Sacrifices were made when it came to the cheese.”

“I can see that.”

“It might not be a celebration that _Ashe_ would approve of, but in this house, the rule is: if wine is good, it will go with any food, no matter how cheap.”

“I still don’t know anyone else who could get away with serving processed cheese with chardonnay.”

“The important thing is that I _do_ get away with it,” Louis says, laying out the platter and two wine glasses onto the coffee table.

Harry steals half a cheese string and starts to peel it into what looks like a very disproportionate octopus before giving up and biting its head off. “Why do you dislike Ashe so much?  He’s actually a really cool guy.”

“I don’t think he’d like being called ‘cool’.  Don’t hipsters like things before they’re cool?”

“I don’t think that joke really makes sense.”

“Don’t judge my jokes, I drank about half the bottle of wine waiting for you.” Louis fills both glasses up to the brim before swallowing a hearty gulp from his own cup and making a proper cheese string character to show Harry how it’s done.

“You’re avoiding the question.  Why don’t you like him?”

“Because he’s an _Ashe_ hole,” Louis says, and even though he knows it’s in bad taste to laugh at his own jokes he can’t help cackling at that.

Harry giggles, too – a sound much lighter and airier than one would expect from a man of his size. “ _Louis_ ,” he says, like he’s trying to scold him for poking fun at Ashe’s name, but his wild laughter says otherwise.

“Hey Harry, can I _Ashe_ you a question?” Louis says, spurred on by Harry’s laughter, by his side like his partner in crime. “Quick _Ashe_ I can, promise.  Do you think he’s got a nice _Ashe_?”

Harry folds his arm over his stomach, positively howling with laughter. “ _God_ , Louis, how much have you had to drink?”

“You’re the one laughing at them,” Louis points out, throwing a cheese string at him and trying not to look pleased at how hard he made Harry laugh.

Harry’s laughter dies down, and for a few minutes they both sit there in silence, peeling designs out of their cheese strings. “I’m really excited for this catering thing.  If people like my food, they might try to hire me for other events.  This could be my big break.”

Louis’s throat tightens up a bit, his fingers freezing mid-peel. “I thought the coffee shop was our big break.”

Harry’s expression clouds over, and he hesitates just a few seconds too long before answering. “Oh, yeah.  Right.  That too.”

And Louis can’t help but hear his father’s voice in the back of his head, smugly whispering ‘ _I told you so_ ’.

+

Louis’s cactus dies before the end of the week.  It turns out that cactuses don’t actually need to be watered twice a day.  In Louis’s defense, he did it out of love.  He throws the cactus a small funeral, playing some Adele to set the mood and having a moment of silence before chucking the plant in the bin.  He supposes he can cross ‘florist’ off his list of fallback careers, then.

The plant isn’t the only thing he seems to be losing, though; Harry spends more and more time with Ashe, disappearing on his lunch breaks with him and visiting museums by his side.  As much as Louis has always been the life of the party, ever the one making people laugh and charming his way into the spotlight, Harry’s always been the one behind the scenes, blending into the crowd but quietly holding everyone together.  Without him, Louis’s jokes aren’t met with half as much laughter, Niall’s left with no one to keep him company in the kitchen, and Zayn has no one to talk to about artsy shit that neither Louis nor Niall much know or care about.

But then, it’s worse when Harry’s at work, because all he can talk about is _Ashe_ this, and _Ashe_ that.  _Ashe_ thinks Harry’s cupcakes are great (so does everyone else, hardly makes him special).  _Ashe_ loves painting (so do children when presented with finger paint).  _Ashe_ is composing his own piano piece (Beethoven composed entire symphonies as a child and he was deaf, so how hard can it be?).  Louis secretly comes up with reasons to denounce all of Ashe’s achievements, but he can’t even say his sarcastic comments aloud, because Harry’s grown too attached to this hipster to even appreciate a joke made at his expense anymore.  Even Zayn is growing tired of hearing about Ashe, whereas just a week ago he’d been kissing the ground he walked on.

It stings more than Louis would like to admit, because he can remember a time when Harry talked about _Louis_ like that, when he’d spent so long gushing about how funny and wonderful he was to feed his massive ego.  Louis hates thinking about being replaced by some hipstery asshole with no actual concept of ‘ _fun_ ’ beyond spending his days in dusty old museums, because when did Harry become the kind of guy to find that sort of thing more interesting than going clubbing and watching movies whilst drunk with Louis?  If it weren’t for their scheduled shifts together at Big Bean, Louis isn’t even sure he’d see Harry at all anymore, and the thought scares him, because Harry’s the only person who’s ever cared enough about him to stay in his life for so long.  Hell, Louis can’t even keep a fucking _cactus_ in his life for longer than a few days.

The thoughts get worse when he comes home after work to a cold, empty flat.  It always feels so much bigger without Harry there, taking up half the sofa with his gangly limbs and filling the silence with his goofy laugh as he watches some ridiculous sitcom.  Over the past few years, he’s managed to settle himself completely into every corner of Louis’s life, holding everything together like glue – holding _Louis_ together.  So Louis falls back to his typical therapy; getting drunk and fucking random guys he meets in clubs.  And normally Harry would notice, would pick up on the littlest thing being off, and he’d get that concerned look on his face and try to coax Louis’s woes out of him with his sweet puppy-dog eyes and manage to make everything better just with a dorky joke and his barking laugh and the promise that everything would work out.  But now, Harry’s too busy to notice anything beyond planning for his upcoming catering gig.

One night, after downing a particularly excessive amount of vodka, Louis is feeling attention-starved enough to call Harry, wondering if maybe a drunk dial will earn him Harry’s attention once again, but the calls just roll through to voicemail for the rest of the night, so instead he seeks attention from the cute boy in the corner who’s been checking him out for the past twenty minutes.  And though Louis has never fucked more people over such a short time span, he’s also never felt so alone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis meets someone _almost_ as sarcastic as himself, and maybe the feelings of loneliness start to fade. Just a little.

When Louis first climbs off the bus and sees the sign, he wonders if he accidentally got off at the wrong stop.  It would hardly be surprising; he’s hungover as shit and barely got three hours of sleep the night before.  He lets out an exasperated huff and turns to flag the bus down again before it leaves when he sees the Big Bean just down the street, making him stop in his tracks.  _What_?

He turns back around to investigate the sign again, walking right up to it and staring at it with a frown on his face: _Coming_ _soon, apply online_ with a large green Starbucks logo smack dab in the middle of the sign.  His frown deepens and he presses his face right up against the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the inside of the building, but it’s been blocked up with sheets of paper.  If nothing else, at least he’s left a face-print smudge on the glass that they’ll have to clean up.  Good riddance.

He pulls out his phone and finds Mr. Cowell’s number, his shift at Big Bean completely forgotten, and nibbles anxiously on his thumb nail until Simon picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Cowell.  It’s Louis Tomlinson.”

  
“Ah, Louis.  Lovely to hear from you; how’s the shop doing?”

“Um…it’s, it’s doing okay, thanks,” Louis says, stumbling over the small talk in his rush to get to the main topic.

“I knew you could do it.  We’ll have to have lunch some time to catch up,” he says, though he still sounds vague and noncommittal, like he’s about to dish out a line to end the conversation and hang up.

“Wait, Mr. Cowell,” Louis blurts, cutting him off just as Simon starts to prattle off about ‘heading into a meeting’. “Did you know about the Starbucks?”

There’s a pause, just a few seconds too long to be brushed off. “What Starbucks?”

“The Starbucks opening just down the street from the Big Bean.”

Mr. Cowell clears his throat uncomfortably and heaves a great sigh into the receiver. “I might have heard a few rumours, yes.”

“Is that why Lou cut her lease short?”

“Mrs. Teasdale, with the help of her lawyer, managed to find a loophole in her contract when she heard the news, and she has since moved her business out of the city to avoid such strong competition.”

“But you sold us the place knowing we wanted to turn it into a coffee shop?”

“You were offering to take the property off my hands entirely, I was hardly about to turn that offer down.  Whatever you did with the place after you bought it would have no impact on me – it was hardly any of my concern.”

“You could have _mentioned_ that—”

“Mr. Tomlinson, with all due respect, if you had looked into the development plans for the area, you would have seen it yourself.  As guilty as you’d like to think I am for landing you in this situation, you could have avoided it with a little bit of research on your own end.  I did help you as much as I could – don’t forget that I threw in the equipment for free _and_ I gave you a very good price for the place – but in the end, maintaining that property was costing me a lot of money, and I was not about to turn away a sale just so I could ‘do the right thing’. I’m a businessman, not a bleeding heart.”

Louis wants to punch something, but since the only things around him are pedestrians and glass doors he opts against it. “So what am I supposed to do now?  I can’t compete with that kind of franchise.”

“That’s none of my concern.  You made your choice; you can’t expect someone else to clean up this mess for you.  You seem like a smart lad, I’m sure you’ll figure out something to do.  Goodbye, Mr. Tomlinson.” And he hangs up before Louis has the chance to get another word in.

+

By the time Louis finally manages to drag his ass into work, he’s almost half an hour late and he feels like the only thing he wants to do is lie down in one of the booths and sleep this whole thing off.  Unfortunately for him, however, Harry doesn’t want to let it go so easily.

“Where have you been?” he demands.

“Downing shots with the Queen.”

“This isn’t funny.  I’m really starting to worry about you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me; the Queen’s all talk.  Doesn’t party _nearly_ as hard as she lets on.”

Harry just rolls his eyes and turns back to the frosting he’s making with a little shrug, and if Louis is even a little hurt by the fact that he’s now just a passing thought to Harry, he doesn’t show it.

“Oh, wait, Louis!  Will you taste this frosting and tell me if it’s too sweet?  Ashe says the key to a good cupcake is balance.”

Well, at least he’s still good for _something_. “Really?  You went to culinary school and spent the past six years of your life perfecting cupcakes, but now the advice of one uppity twat is superior to that of your professors?”

Harry’s hand slips on the mixer he’s holding, sending a small cloud of powdered sugar up in the air around him. “It’s not – I’m not, no,” he stammers quietly, unable to meet Louis’s eyes as he tries to wave away the white sugary cloud.

“Oh, please.  You’ve got your head so far up that bloke’s ass you might as well charge him for a colonoscopy while you’re up there,” Louis grumbles, but he can’t even be properly angry anymore once he sees the ‘sad-lost-puppy’ look Harry always gets whenever someone yells at him.

“I’m sorry, just this catering thing…it means a lot to me.  Sorry, I – sorry.” Harry folds himself up, ducking his head and hunching his shoulders, and oh _god_ , as if Louis could feel like an even bigger prick than he already does, but he doesn’t really know how to apologise after taking it this far, so he just turns and walks out of the room, fantasizing about stealing a bottle of coffee liqueur from the kitchen and passing out with it in one of the booths.

+

Four hours into his shift, during what _should_ be the afternoon rush, there’s a disturbing lack of customers filtering in through the doors.  It’s not adding up; traffic outside the shop is still good, and Louis can see a crowd of people huddled outside the doors, but none of them seem to be coming in.

“Did someone get shot or something?” Niall mutters, leaning over the counter to try and see out the window.

“Christ, I hope not.  That’d be absolutely _shit_ for business.” Louis pulls his apron over his head with an exasperated huff and heads outside, standing up on the tips of his toes to try and see what’s going on, but it’s no use; once again, he’s just a _tad_ too short to see.  Okay, so he’ll just move on to plan B: roughly elbowing everyone out of the way and wriggling through the sea of people, ignoring the cusses thrown in his direction.

He finally makes his way to the front of the crowd only to see a boy crouched on a small stool, a guitar in his hands and its open case in front of him, filled with coins and bills.  At first, Louis is glad to see that no one was shot, but when he realizes just how much money is in this boy’s guitar case (money that would _normally_ be in his cash register by now), the sentiment quickly fades.  Between a Starbucks opening down the street and this kid distracting all his customers, he feels like he’ll be lucky to even cover half his expenses next month if this keeps up.  So, even though he _knows_ it’s a dick move, he clears his throat loudly and steps forward.

“Excuse me?” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to look as intimidating as possible.

The boy casts a bored glance up at him, looking supremely nonplussed. “What?”

“Why are you playing outside my shop?” _Fuck_ , Louis really sucks at this whole ‘businessman’ thing.  He feels a bit like an old man yelling at some neighbourhood kids to get off his lawn.

The crowd starts to dissipate, everyone having reached the end of their – apparently short – attention span, and the boy takes this opportunity to put his guitar to the side, storing the pick between his lips, and starts sorting through the money in his guitar case. “Good spot,” he says around the plastic tab.

“Yes, it is a good spot; that’s why I bought and opened up _my restaurant_.”

“Sensing a recurring theme here,” the boy says snarkily.

“Okay, very funny.  Now run along and find yourself a new place to hold your little show, yeah?”

“I can sing here all I’d like, actually,” he says casually, pocketing the coins he’s now sorted through and moving onto the bills scattered along the velvet lining of his guitar case.

“I own this place, so I’d beg to differ.”

“Didn’t realize the city was now selling the sidewalk out to private businesses.”

Okay, so the guy might have a point.  Louis gives up and plops down next to him on the curb, watching him count his money.  He’s actually got quite a bit, Louis notices. “You make that much money every day?”

He shrugs. “Usually.  I make more on weekends when there’s better traffic.  Why?”

“What would you say to an actual paying gig?” Louis blurts out before really thinking about it.  He pauses, mulls the thought over, and okay, it doesn’t sound like the _worst_ idea in the world, so he gives an encouraging nod to egg the stranger on.

“Why should I say yes?” he says coolly, like he’s prodding for extra benefits.

“Regular, dependable salary – hourly wage, plus tips – and some legitimate work experience to put on your résumé beyond just ‘street performer’.”

“Have you even heard me play?”

“Look, with all due respect, I’m desperate and you’ve got enough money there to prove that you must be at least _decent_.” Louis wipes his face down with his palms, suddenly exhausted.

“Well, since you put it that way – and since you _did_ say I’d get my own tips,” he says, pausing here to give Louis a meaningful look, to which he responds with a confirmatory nod, “then sure.  When do I start?”

+

Louis turns out to like the guy (Ed, he soon learns) a lot more than he thought he would.  Not only do they seem to have a lot in common, most notably a dry sense of humour, but hiring a new employee gives him just the excuse he was looking for to spend the rest of his shift in the back room, writing up and negotiating a contract and, most importantly, avoiding Harry.  Ed probably doesn’t need to be there for the whole process, but Louis is desperate to have real human contact that doesn’t involve: a) a seedy nightclub, or b) a conversation involving anything to do with Ashe.  Besides, Ed’s more than happy to stay once Louis offers him some free coffee and baked goods.  He even plays a few songs for Louis, and he’s got to admit, he’s really good.  Let Starbucks try to compete with _that_ , he thinks smugly.

He draws out the process a little longer to ensure that he’ll finish _just_ as everyone else closes up the shop, walking out of the back room to see them all cleaning up.

“Ed, meet Niall, Zayn, and Harry.  Everyone, this is Ed.  He’s going to play a few live shows for us a couple times a week, give people more incentive to come in and stay long enough to order a few refills while they’re here.”

Niall and Zayn seem oddly familiar with Ed, making Louis wonder if he played here frequently when Lou still owned the place, but Harry grows silent as soon as he lays eyes on the man, sweeping the floor with a sulky pout on his face.

Louis grabs a cloth and half-heartedly wipes down the counter, feeling a _little_ bad for making everyone else do all the work. “Did anyone clean out the till yet?”

“Yeah, I did,” Harry says flatly.

“Well, how did we do?”

“Balance is in the filing cabinet.”

Okay, Louis thinks, so Harry is still pissed off with him for what he said about Ashe earlier that day.  Understandable.  Uncomfortable, but understandable.  He’ll just have to keep talking until he wears Harry down, then. “Hey, Harry, why don’t we take the lads out clubbing, hey?  Celebrate Ed joining our little team?”

“Can’t.  Got plans.”

“Can’t you blow them off for one night?  I’m sure Ashe wouldn’t mind,” he says sarcastically, but he reminds himself to keep a playful little grin on his face, because he’s supposed to be winning Harry back.

“No, because when I make a commitment, I don’t just _blow it off_.” Harry says the last three words slowly, giving Louis a meaningful glare as he waits for him to pick up on whatever dig he’s trying to make.  His words are met with a confused stare, and for a moment they each just watch each other, both waiting for the other to say something, before Harry drops the broom and storms off to the kitchen.  Judging by the noisy _clanks_ and sloshing sounds, it seems he’s decided to angrily wash dishes instead.

“He seems like a real bucket of fun,” Ed mutters after a few moments of uncertain silence.

Louis shrugs and continues wiping the table down with much more force than necessary. “Whatever.  Are the rest of you still up for a night out?”

Niall shakes his head. “I promised my brother I’d swing round his tonight, sorry.”

“And Liam and I are going out for drinks,” Zayn says with an easy shrug.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa; explain, please.” Louis throws the rag at Zayn pointedly.

“It’s nothing big; every Thursday, Liam and his friends go out, and he invited me along tonight.”

“That’s _very_ big – he’s already introducing you to his friends?”

“Well, he invited you lot along, but since Louis seems determined to _constantly make dirty jokes_ ,” Zayn pauses to shoot a dirty look in his direction, “I lied and told him you lot couldn’t make it.”

“Aw, your first white lie to him.  You’ll make a beautiful couple.” Louis ruffles Zayn’s hair fondly.

“What – _no_ , what are you doing?  I have to go fix it, Liam can’t see me looking like I was just attacked by a rabid animal!” Zayn races into the bathroom, hands shielding his head protectively.

Louis gives Niall a confused glance. “Is he always that vain?”

“Only if he _really_ fancies someone.”

“Poor Liam.”

“Who’s Liam?” Ed asks, brows furrowed.

“Fit guy who works at the hardware shop down the street.  He’s currently the apple of Zayn’s eye," Louis says as he watches Ed carefully, preparing a proper rant in his head in case Ed makes even the slightest homophobic comment.

 

Ed just shrugs. “Cool,” he says politely, looking rather disinterested.

Louis smiles a little, because Ed just passed that test with flying colours and that makes him feel pretty good about this new hire. “So, you still up for a bit of clubbing just the two of us?”

“Are drinks on you?”

Louis pauses, eyeing Ed up a bit, but he keeps a smirk on his face and doesn’t back down. “First two rounds.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Harry storms out of the kitchen, wiping his hands dry with a soppy dish towel. “Have fun,” he grumbles.

“Give Ashe a kiss hello for me,” Louis sings, because if Harry’s going to be sarcastic then so is he.  He marches out the door, leaving Ed to follow after him hesitantly.

“Are you and Harry, like…a thing?” he asks once they’re halfway down the street.

“ _God_ , no.  Right now, I can barely tolerate him.”

“So, is he dating that Ashe guy you mentioned?”

Louis sighs and puffed his cheeks out petulantly. “He might as well be.”

“Jealous much?”

“Shut up.”

“What a scathing retort.  You’re also avoiding the question.”

“Do you talk to all your bosses like this?”

“I was never big on authority.  Stop changing the subject.”

“I’m not jealous, I just hate that Ashehole.”

“Did you just say ‘Ashehole’?”

“Sorry, force of habit.”

Ed laughs to himself. “You’re not really talking yourself out of the whole ‘jealousy’ thing, just so you know.”

Louis bumps him with his shoulder, crinkling his nose. “Be nice to me, I’m buying you drinks.”

“Drinks won’t solve everything,” Ed notes, and even though there’s no way he can know how much weight those words hold with Louis, they still hit a bit too close to home.

“It’s a hell of a lot more fun to try, though.”

“Point.  Fair warning: I plan on drinking you under the table tonight.”

Louis grins mischievously at the sound of a challenge so _obviously_ tipped in his favour. “I’d like to see you try, Gingersnap.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally opens up, but Louis maybe kind of wishes he hadn't.

Harry abruptly stops scheduling Louis to work shifts with him, instead writing Niall and Zayn in twice as much to make up for it.  At first Louis thinks it’ll only last a week – maybe Harry was still angry when he’d assigned shifts, and he’s since calmed down.  When week two rolls around, it’s a little unnerving, but really, Harry’s never held a grudge this long, so surely it’ll pass easily enough, right?  Right.  Of course.

By week six, Louis is less sure of that philosophy.

He’s only worked one shift with Harry in the past month and a half – and that was because Zayn called in sick and asked Louis to cover for him.  It doesn’t help that Harry seems adamant not to spend any time with Louis at all, even _outside_ of work.  At one point, Louis demands Harry come round his for some shitty microwave pizza and a marathon of bad reality shows, like they used to do every Wednesday, and he refuses to leave him alone until he accepts.  He gets a reluctant yes, but then twenty minutes before Harry’s due to be over he texts him, insisting he’s just too sick to come over (yet not so sick as to miss work, of course).

So instead, Louis turns to Ed.  Their friendship is still in the beginning stages, both of them trying to figure out how far is _too_ far when it comes to jokes and where they lay their boundaries, and Ed seems a little confused at first, wondering why Louis is suddenly acting like they’re long-time best mates, but he doesn’t question it, just accepts it.  Which is good, because now that Niall and Zayn are working all the time to deal with Harry’s insane schedule, Louis hasn’t really got any other friends in London.  It takes a bit of work to figure each other out; Ed seems uncomfortable with the thought of singing along to cheesy musicals and getting drunk whilst watching X-Factor, and Louis doesn’t know any of the hipster-y underground artists that Ed raves about, but they both pretend to be interested when the other yammers on about such things, so there’s that.

Louis’s first normal interaction with Harry happens on week seven of not working with him.  Ed’s just setting up his guitar in the corner of the shop, getting ready for his show, when Louis comes in to start his shift.  He’s a bit surprised when Harry doesn’t immediately bolt for the back room to clock out, like he usually does whenever Louis comes in.  He just finishes rearranging a few muffins in the front display, a distant look on his face.  Louis walks slowly, not making any sudden movements, like Harry is some sort of gazelle that would bolt if startled.

He’s just in the middle of tiptoeing to the break room when he feels a tap on his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Louis freezes, holds his position for a good twenty or thirty seconds, before slowly pivoting round to face Harry. “Um.  Um?” he offers lamely.

“Profound.”

He snaps out of it then, regains a little bit of sense. “I try.”

“Look, I put out some new biscuits – lemon cranberry.  Want to try one?” he asks, holding one out.

“I just finished working off your last ‘new culinary creation’,” Louis grumbles, smoothing one hand over his tummy protectively, but the other hand reaches out for the biscuit anyway.

Harry grins – a tiny little crooked smile that only touches one side of his lips and rounds out one dimple, but it’s a start. “So?  Thoughts, comments?  Your feedback is appreciated.”

“Ehhh,” Louis says with a crinkled nose, waving his hand in a ‘so-so’ gesture, and Harry’s face falls a little. “Not sure.  I mean, I’d need another one to _really_ know.  Maybe even three or four more.  Possibly the whole dozen.”

Harry perks right back up, and for a second it’s like the past couple of months haven’t happened, like they’re right back to where they were before, all awkward tension chased away by the glow of Harry’s grin – his real, _proper_ grin, this time.  It’s too easy for them to fall back into their old rhythm, and Louis almost wants to put this whole thing behind them, slip back into their friendship like it’s all okay, but it’s _not_ , and he knows that.  But he’s not going to let that stop him; his motto all through university was ‘fake it until you make it’, so he’ll be damned if he’s not going to give it a shot now.

“Are you doing anything?  Like, tonight, I mean?  There’s a _Scrubs_ marathon on, and I’ve got frozen chicken strips and chips.”

“You still eat like a teenager,” Harry laughs, but it sounds forced.

“You know me – young at heart.”

“Um, I just.  I wish I could, but I have to do some shopping tonight.  Buy more food.  Can’t do without food.”

“I could help you out.  And by ‘help you out’, I mean sneak sweets into your basket when you’re not looking.”

“Thanks, but I’m good.”

And Louis knows he should leave it, shouldn’t push his luck because it’s a miracle he even got Harry to say _this_ much to him, but he’s feeling stupid, so why the hell not. “So what, is this some sort of top-secret grocery expedition or something?”

“I just want to go on my own, it’s not—”

“You _never_ want to be on your own.  We used to spend every fucking free minute together.” He thinks people are looking at them now, can feel Niall and Zayn’s apprehensive stares on his back, but he’s not going to sweep this under the carpet until Harry answers him.

“Fine.  I didn’t want to tell you this, but Ashe is taking me to an organic produce market,” Harry explains, and though there’s no anger in his voice, there’s something firm, unmoving about the way he holds himself, meeting Louis’s gaze evenly.

“Great.  Brilliant.  Didn’t know you liked paying ten quid for an apple the size of a golf ball, but if that’s what you’re into, then great.  Who am I to stand in your way?”

Harry sighs and shakes his head, nudging past him to head to the back room, and Louis _refuses_ to put up with that kind of condescending shit, so without really thinking about it he turns around and storms after him, slamming the door behind him so nobody else in the shop can hear them.

“Are you going to throw another temper tantrum, then?” Harry asks, not looking up from his stuff as he starts to pull off his apron and stuff it in his rucksack.

“Why have you been shutting me out lately?”

“ _Me_?  You think _I’m_ the reason we don't talk anymore?”

“You’re the one who hasn’t scheduled us to work together in two months.  You’re the one who cancels on me every time I try to make plans with you.  You’re the one who’s so wrapped up in Ashe that you haven’t even got the time to _think_ about me anymore.  So yeah, I’d say you’re the problem.”

“That’s – okay.  Whatever.” Harry laughs to himself, but it’s without humour.

“Really, you’re _laughing_?  I don’t recall this being a joke.”

“This whole situation is a joke.”

“Well I must have missed the fucking punch line, so please feel free to explain.”

“You don’t take any of this seriously, but you still think you’re the victim here.  That’s what’s funny.”

Louis blinks, waiting for further explanation.

“I called Simon a few weeks ago, when I found out that there was going to be a Starbucks opening down the street.  _He_ said he’d already spoken to you about it, but you never even told me anything.  You just kept it to yourself.  Moreover, he said the whole fucking thing could have been avoided if you had just looked at the development plans for the area.  You convinced me to invest in this restaurant, told me everything would work out and we’d be fine.  But then you started getting drunk every night, showing up late every morning and working your shifts half-assed, leaving _me_ to pick up your slack, and then you go and start hiring employees without even so much as talking to me about it first.  You didn’t even tell me we were going to take on a musical act.  Ed seems great and all, but it would have been nice if you’d given me some respect as your co-owner and _friend_ , more importantly.  And I know I've been busy with the catering thing and haven't been returning your calls like I should – that's on me, I'll own up to it.  But at least _I've_ been keeping up with work!  It’s like, you want to be in charge, but you don’t actually want to do any work, and if this fucks up, everyone else is going to suffer.  Niall and Ed and Zayn, they’re all going to lose their jobs, and I’m going to be hundreds of thousands of pounds in debt from buying this place – and you know what, nobody is going to bail _me_ out.  We don’t all have rich parents like you.” There's a look of instant regret on Harry's face once the words are out.  He opens his mouth as if to speak again, and Louis thinks maybe he's about to apologise, but then he seems to think better of it and presses his lips back into a tight line.

Louis’s palms are clammy and his stomach is churning.  He wants to speak, wants to say something, but he can’t find the words, and he feels like if he opens his mouth, the only thing to come out will be his lunch.

“Just forget it,” Harry mutters, scooping up his bag and walking out the door without another word, leaving Louis to slump to the floor and clutch his knees into his chest, trying not to burst into sobs because he’s an adult, and adults don’t cry – at least, _he_ doesn’t.  He’s going to fix it, somehow.  He will.

+

Nothing really changes after that; not technically.  Harry and Louis still don’t work together.  Louis still spends as much time as possible with Ed, trying to fill the Harry-sized hole left in his life, which isn’t really fair but he does it anyway because he already knows he’s a dick, what more does he have to lose?  The only thing that changes is that he and Harry stop even trying to pretend things are okay; Louis doesn’t text Harry to invite him over, and in return Harry stops faking uncomfortable smiles if they happen to cross paths.  Louis can’t even bring himself to speak to Zayn and Niall normally, because he doesn’t know if Harry’s told them everything.  He’s out of options; if he could quit, he would, but he knows that would just make everything a shit-ton worse, and as much as he knows that this restaurant is vital to everyone’s income, he’d rather the shop go under and be buried in debt than lose Harry.  But then, losing the shop _means_ losing Harry, and as much as he wants to prove that he can take this seriously and he can work his ass off, he just doesn’t have the energy.  He feels too tired all the time, and if he knew of a way to cope with this feeling that didn’t include drinking himself half to death or eating his weight in junk food, he’d do it.

He starts having to work more and more, too, as Harry starts scheduling himself less to free him up to spend time with Ashe and go over the final details for the catering event.  Louis would complain about working so often, if he wasn’t too busy feeling sorry for himself and wallowing in self-pity.

It’s funny how quickly his coping methods change after that.  Normally, when he feels sorry for himself, he goes out and gets drunk and fucks strangers until he feels better – or until the problem resolves itself, anyway.  But out of nowhere, his behaviour flips.  Instead of going out, he finds himself staying in and spending his nights in ratty sweatpants, glued to the telly and his junk food of choice.

It’s not something he wants other people to see, but of course, because his luck seems to be absolute shit lately, it happens anyway.  Louis is sprawled out on his sofa in his pajamas even though it’s only half past seven, wrapped in his comforter like it’s his cocoon and chowing down on a bag of cheese puffs.  He’s also got a bar of chocolate buried somewhere between the couch cushions, but he’s decided he’ll start looking for it when he finishes the cheese puffs – he’s got to pace himself.

There’s a knock at the door – probably one of his neighbours here to complain about the obnoxious volume at which he’s currently watching X-Factor – and Louis heaves himself up off the couch, shuffling to the door with his comforter still scrunched round his shoulders and cheese dust on his face.

Instead, he swings the door open to see Ed leaning against the wall.  He panics, suddenly dropping the comforter to the floor and kicking it out of the way, like he can convince Ed that his eyes were playing tricks on him if he gets rid of the evidence quickly enough, though he realizes how stupid his plan is as soon as he’s done it.

“Whoa, you look…” Ed pauses thoughtfully, “absolute shit, actually.”

“You really know how to make me feel like a man, _Edward_.” Louis huffs and picks up his comforter, shuffling back to the couch, because if Ed’s already seen him like this then there’s no point pretending.  He carefully rebuilds his nest, burrowing under the blanket and clutching the bag of cheese puffs to his chest protectively.

Ed reaches under the cover, grabbing a few for himself. “S’what I’m here for.”

“Don’t touch my food,” Louis growls, but it comes out sounding more exhausted than threatening, so Ed reaches into the bag once again.

“Wanna tell me what this is about?”

“Oh, lay off it.  Can’t a guy have a night in once in a while?”

“This doesn’t look like a night in; this looks like you’re hunkering down for the apocalypse.” Ed frowns as the chocolate bar falls out between the couch cushions, looking at Louis like that’s just proved his point.

“That wasn’t my intention, but I wouldn’t mind hiding out here for a few months.  Do you think pizza delivery would still run during the apocalypse?”

“Probably not.”

“Shame.”

Ed sits down on the sofa, and Louis takes the liberty of stretching his legs out, using his lap as a footrest. “I know you’re avoiding the question.”

“That’s like your catchphrase.  What is it with you and letting things go?”

“Shut up and answer me.”

Louis rolls his eyes and pulls the comforter up a little tighter round his chin. “Well, since you sweet-talked it out of me,” he begins sarcastically, “Harry and I had a little row.”

“’Little’ row?  You haven’t slipped into crisis mode because of a ‘ _little_ ’ row, I’m not buying that.”

“Well…fuck, shut up.” Louis pauses, picking at a loose thread on his blanket, but he can feel Ed watching him expectantly. “Will you leave me alone if I tell you everything?”

“Probably not, but it’s worth a shot.”

So, with a heavy sigh, Louis starts from the very beginning, probably saying more than he needs to because it feels almost therapeutic to finally have someone to talk to, to get this all of his chest.  He doesn’t even know if Ed will care much, because really, Harry was right when he said that Louis was fucking around with _everyone_ ’s jobs, but Ed’s expression stays even, unreadable, so Louis just keeps babbling.

It must be almost half an hour later when he finally stops speaking, mouth dry from talking nonstop for so long.  His first instinct is to knock back a few glasses of wine to get rid of the feeling, but for some reason he doesn’t really feel like drinking.  He just wants a hot mug of tea, some soup, and a twelve hour snooze.  Maybe a twelve day snooze.  Or a twelve week one; hibernation doesn’t sound so bad right now, all things considered.

Ed pauses for a good minute or two, looking at the ground with a distant look on his face and slowly nodding to himself, absorbing and processing everything.  With every second that passes, Louis grows more and more apprehensive; he _knows_ everything is his fault here, he can see how badly he fucked up, but he doesn’t want to lose Harry _and_ Ed because of it.  Maybe he shouldn’t have talked about this.  Maybe ‘talking about your feelings’ is just a load of bullshit that never fixes anything, and he was right to want to eat and drink his problems away.

After what feels like three hours but was probably just three minutes, Ed turns to Louis and nods once. “Okay.  Okay, yeah.  That sucks.  But you know it’s reparable.”

Louis is torn between wanting to kick the guy out of his flat and wanting to bury his face in his shoulder and cry. “ _How_ , then?”

“Well, I mean, you and Harry both fucked up,” Ed says, but his tone is light. “You already know that, and so does he.  But, see, he doesn’t know _why_ you did what you did, yeah?  You had your reasons.  And it’s not like you’ve got your parents to bail you out like he thinks you do, because they’re about ready to kick your ass to the curb.  You could have told him that bit, at least.”

“That doesn’t matter; I still screwed up.  I should have _known_ better.  At the very least, I could have told him about Starbucks opening up and at least talked to him before hiring you.  Not…not that hiring you was a mistake, just.  Y’know.  Should’ve mentioned it.”

“I’m not arguing with you; you _did_ fuck up.  Said that before.  But he doesn’t know everything that’s going on here, either.  If he thinks you’re just screwing around and not taking it seriously, then it’s no wonder he’s investing so much in this catering thing.  He’s worried it might be his only way to make money if the coffee shop goes under.  The more he sees you screwing around with work, the more _you_ push him towards Ashe and his stupid catering thing.”

“It _is_ stupid!” Louis cheers, pleased to have someone agree with him.

“That wasn’t my point.”

“Sorry.  Insulting Ashe soothes me.  So what am I supposed to do?  I can’t just apologize to Harry; that’s not enough to make up for everything.”

“No, it isn’t.  But it’s a start.”

“I don’t need a start, I need a permanent fix.”

“You have to start somewhere.”

“Stop saying ‘start’, it sounds weird now.”

“Start.  Start, start, start.”

Louis throws a cheese puff at Ed, who makes a valiant effort to catch it with his mouth, but instead gets hit in the forehead with it, leaving a patch of neon orange dust on his face. “Idiot,” Louis says quietly.

Ed seems to understand that it’s Louis’s way of thanking him, and gives him a small grin in return before settling back on the couch.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis decides enough is enough when it comes to his own personal pity party. Additionally, he realizes just how good he looks in a suit.

Louis, quite frankly, is very much done with feeling sorry for himself.

He’d like to attribute it to his plucky nature and ‘stick it to the man’ attitude, but if he’s being completely honest, he owes most of his recovery to Ed.  If it weren’t for him, Louis would probably have spent the next month in the same pair of pajamas.  It was getting to the point where putting on a jumper to go run errands was considered ‘dressing up’.  And Louis knows for a fact that pajama bottoms do _not_ flatter his figure, thank you very much.

So, one morning, he rolls out of bed (okay, not morning – more like two in the afternoon) and realizes that he’s really only got three options here.   Option one: continue on this path of wallowing, turn into a hermit, and spend every night of the rest of his life sat at home watching chick flicks and crying into his ice cream.  That one is a no-go; Louis can’t afford to buy a pint of the good ice cream every single night, and if there’s one thing he takes seriously it’s his ice cream.  The numbers just don’t work out.  So, option two: sell Big Bean, leave Niall, Zayn, Harry and Ed all without employment, move back to Doncaster with his parents, and spend the rest of his life calling himself a failure because he had a chance for success with his _best friend_ in the palm of his hand and he ran away from it.  That doesn’t sound like a particularly happy ending, Louis thinks, so he leaves it as a last resort.  Then, there’s his last option: step up his friendship game, apologise to Harry, tell Ashe he can stick his snobby attitude right up his _Ashe_ hole, and start being the best friend and business partner that Harry deserves and Louis wants to be.

It’s with newfound determination that Louis throws the covers off himself and hops out of bed, making his way to the bathroom for a (well-needed) shower.  Harry’s catering gig is tonight, and not only is Louis going to go, he’s going to dress himself up to the nines and show Ashe exactly who he’s messing with.

Louis is going to get his boy back. 

+

“Hors d'oeuvre?”

Louis looks up to see a posh-looking server holding out a platter of green and yellow things on tiny plates. “Gesundheit,” he jokes.

“I didn’t sneeze, sir,” the server replies, looking confused.

Louis sighs, wondering if anyone in this stuffy place would know a joke if it clawed their eyes out. “Never mind.  Yeah, I’ll take one, thanks.” The only good thing about this place is the food, to be honest, and he can't help wondering what Harry even sees in Ashe if he can't throw a good party.  He'd been a little surprised to find out that his name was on the guest list; Harry was only supposed to add Zayn as his plus-one, so until Louis had snuck a peek at the list he’d just been planning to introduce himself as one ‘Mr. Zayn Malik, pleasure to meet you’.  It could have worked; Zayn was going out tonight with Liam, so he wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway.  He'd been wondering if Harry had added it when he’d first gotten the job and forgotten to take it off or if he’d left it there intentionally, just in case Louis had a change of heart.  He hopes it was the latter; that means there's at least a _hope_ of smoothing things over, right?

But so far, Louis has yet to catch any glimpse of Harry.  Food is flying out of the kitchen, and Ashe is flitting around from old rich guy to old rich guy, not even popping round to the kitchen once to check on things.  Louis had thought maybe keeping an eye on Ashe would lead him to Harry, since he had the authority to enter the kitchen, but so far that plan isn’t working out.

His scheme finally comes to fruition when he hears Ashe excuse himself from a small group of people, calling out something about ‘checking on the status of the main course’.  Louis hurriedly gulps down the green and yellow thing he got from the server earlier (it’s quite good – he thinks the yellow thing might be cheese, but what does he know?) before stalking after Ashe.  He probably looks more suspicious with the way he keeps half-ducking behind tables and around corners, but if any of the guests notice they don’t say anything, and Louis doesn’t pay them enough mind to feel embarrassed by whatever strange looks they give him.  He knows if Harry were here, he’d laugh at him.

Ashe pushes past two large swinging doors into the kitchen, and Louis ducks just outside them, staying at eye-level with the windows so he can still see inside.  Maybe he shouldn’t have done his hair up so nice; it’s a bit taller than usual, and it might compromise his otherwise excellent camouflage.

Nobody seems to notice him though, so he starts scoping out the kitchen.  Harry looks to be the only one actually cooking, with a few of the servers helping him plate, but the kitchen is so small that they’re all running into each other.  Harry smiles politely every time someone jostles him, but Louis doesn’t miss the tense edge to his stance, the way his lips press into a tight line just a second before he manages to curl them up.  He looks tired.

“Harry, do you think you’ll be ready to serve the main course anytime soon?” Ashe asks impatiently, stealing one of the hors d’oeuvres from a platter and popping it into his mouth.  Louis hopes he chokes on it.  He doesn’t.

Harry is further away, his low voice harder to hear through the door, so Louis props it open with his foot. “The fish is done, but the chicken needs a few more minutes.”

Ashe frowns and gives Harry a disappointed look, but doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying my best.  I thought you said there would only be 100 people – I wasn’t prepared for this many guests.”

“There were some last minute changes; I ordered you enough food, you should be fine.” Ashe frowns and airily waves his fingers over the plates of food again, like he’s debating taking another hors d’oeuvre.

“Well, I –” Harry begins, but he stops, closes his eyes, and Louis can see his broad shoulders rise and fall slowly as he takes a deep breath.  He starts again after a moment, and when he opens his eyes again they look even more exhausted. “I’m sorry.  I’ll do my best to speed things up.”

Ashe nods and seems to decide against another appetizer, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Atta boy.  Food’s great, by the way.”

“Er, thanks.  By the way…” Harry stops and looks up from the pot he’s stirring, fixing Ashe with a look that’s equal parts sad and hopeful. “Do you know if Louis is here?”

Ashe shrugs. “Haven’t seen him.  I’ll give you a shout if he shows up.”

Harry sighs and nods, turning back to whatever he’s cooking. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, mate.”

Louis barely has time to run around the corner before Ashe walks out of the kitchen, heading back the way he came to the main room, and for the first time in a long while, Louis doesn’t even feel the need to think nasty things about him as he leaves.  Right now, his friend is struggling in the next room; that’s much more important than making a few scathing remarks about some uppity twat.

He heads back into the kitchen, heart pounding in his chest as he tries to remember just _one_  of the many speeches he’d practiced in his head all day, but nothing is coming back to him, so instead he says, “So, um...I really like the yellow and green things you made.”

Harry freezes in place and looks up, and Louis can’t read the look on his face but he doesn’t want to; he wants to hear everything from _Harry_ , wants to hear enough of his voice to make up for the past two months where he hasn’t heard enough of it. “ _Louis_ ,” he breathes, so quietly it almost gets lost in the din of plates clanking and sizzling pans in the background.

“Hey.  So, um.  Hi,” Louis says lamely, taking a step closer, and Harry smiles at him, which is promising, but it’s not a _real_ smile, not a _Harry_ smile.  But still, he’ll take it.

“When did you – I didn’t think you’d.  You know.”

“Well, I did.  So.” If Louis says ‘so’ one more time he’s going to stick his head in one of those boiling pots.

“Only staff allowed back here, sir; sorry,” one of the servers says.

“No, Jeremy, it’s fine; he’s with me,” Harry says, holding up a hand to stop him.

“Yeah, _Jeremy_ ,” Louis sniffs, and yes, it’s childish, but what are best friend privileges for if he doesn’t get to flaunt them?

Harry pulls off his apron and sets his whisk down on the counter, taking a few steps towards Louis. “Someone watch the wine reduction; I’m stepping out for a couple of minutes.”

“But dinner was supposed to be served five minutes ago – you can't leave now,” says another server.

Harry doesn’t turn to look at the boy, just keeps walking towards Louis. “I’m about three seconds away from walking out on this whole thing.  Unless you want to have to deal with this nightmare all on your own and finish this service without any help from an _actual_ _trained_ _chef_ , I suggest you let me step out for a moment.”

Nobody argues with him again after that, which is probably for the best; even _Louis_ is caught off guard.  He’s never seen Harry so assertive.

Well, no, that’s not true; he seemed pretty damn assertive when he was yelling at Louis a few weeks ago.

Harry makes his way out the back door of the kitchen, leaving Louis to blindly follow his lead through the private staff halls until they come to a fire exit door at the end of the hall.  Louis half-expects the alarm to sound when Harry pushes the door open, but it doesn’t.  They both step out onto a vacated terrace, empty save for a few benches all surrounding what looks to be a fountain, only the water isn’t running and the basin is clogged with rotting leaves.   _Romantic_ , Louis thinks sarcastically.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Harry says as they both take a seat on the nearest bench.

“Well, I couldn’t just not show up to the biggest night of my best friend’s career, could I?” Louis says, throwing the words ‘best friend’ in tentatively, watching Harry’s reaction, but the words still seem normal to him. “Besides, I was on the _guest list_.  This whole party depended on me showing up.”

Harry laughs quietly, looking down at his feet as he scuffs his shoes against the ground. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I should hope so.  I spent a very long time waiting for Ashe to go back to the kitchen so I could sneak in to see you.” Louis pulls his suit jacket tighter around himself against the cold December air.

“You know you could have just come back on your own, right?”

“I didn’t want security to kick me out.”

“Why would security be guarding the kitchen?”

“Maybe the recipe for that tasty green and yellow thing is very top-secret.”

“Even if there was security, don’t you think they would have seen you following Ashe and kicked you out?”

“I could have taken them.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, but he grins. “I’d like to have seen that.”

“The night’s not over yet,” Louis leans back on the bench and looks up at the sky, spotting a handful of stars peeking out between the clouds. Or maybe they're just satellites. “Give me a few more glasses of champagne and we’ll see what happens.”

It’s quiet between them for a few minutes, and as happy as Louis had been to temporarily slip back into their old ways, with each second that passes the happy moment fades away, reminding them both of where they stand.

“So how have you been?” Harry asks, after what feels like half an hour but is probably just forty five seconds.

Louis is about to say ‘fine’, like he always does, like _everyone_ always does, but he stops himself. “Not that good, to be honest.”

“I can tell.  You look tired.  You look…not like you,” Harry says with a frown.

“I could say the same.  You look _wiped_ , mate.”

Harry sighs. “It’s been hard, dealing with all this without you there to help me through it.  I never thought I could do anything without you; if the way tonight’s going is any indication, I think I was right.”

“Oh, come on; things can’t be _that_ bad.”

“It’s a disaster.  Ashe doubled the guest list at the last minute without telling me, but he didn’t bother to hire another chef to help me out, so I’ve had to pull half the servers back to help me in the kitchen, and none of the new guests have filled out meal cards so I don’t know how many extra chicken and fish dishes to make, and nobody ordered any of the vegetarian dishes but apparently some of the new guests _do_ want vegetarian meals but I haven’t got the ingredients ready and…” Harry stops himself short, burying his face in his hand. “And I miss you.  A lot.”

Louis’s arm flinches out, itching to pull Harry in for a hug, but he stops himself, still on edge. “I’m really sorry.  I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you, and that I’ve been a shit friend, and that I’ve been a _selfish_ friend.  That I haven’t really been a friend at all.”

“No, no.  I could say the same for myself.  I felt so bad after I snapped at you a few weeks ago.  I just felt like you were shutting me out, and Ashe was there for me, and you weren’t talking to me and I knew you were drinking yourself sick but you wouldn’t open up to me, and…and I just got scared, seeing you like that but not knowing how to help you, when you wouldn't let me in.  Then everything started changing with the business, and you didn’t talk to me about that either, but I never stopped to wonder what I could do to help you.  That should’ve been my first thought.  And then I wanted to fix things but I saw how much time you were spending with Ed, how close you two were, and I guess…I guess I got jealous, felt like you didn’t need me anymore.  I wanted to tell you how sorry I was, but I didn’t know how, I didn’t really feel like anything I could say would fix it after I blew up like that and blamed you for everything.”

Louis cuts him off before he can go any further. “If you keep blaming yourself for everything, I _will_ punch you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

“Sorry.”

“What are you – I just said don’t apologise.”

“I’m apologising for apologising.”

Louis laughs, and without really thinking about it, he leans into Harry’s side – just a bit, just so he can catch the familiar scent of him, and it reminds him of nights out clubbing, dancing till he can’t stand in his favourite club, of late nights spent watching bad telly and falling asleep on the couch, of _home_.  Maybe, to him, home isn’t London or Doncaster or his flat or anyone else’s; maybe, to him, home is a person.  Home is Harry.

“You know, I didn’t mean to start shutting you out.  My family…my family said something to me, a few months ago.  They want me to sell the shop.  If I don't, then..." Louis pauses, watches his breath turn to fog in the chill of the air. "Then they don't want anything to do with me anymore.  It really shook me up, and I guess that’s when I kind of went out of control.  And then you were with Ashe all the time, and I wanted to turn to someone else, but I made the startling discovery that I have no friends in this city except you.  Well, now I’ve got Ed, but that’s a recent thing.  Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I know that I was absolute shit.  I didn’t support you when you got the gig and I wasn’t excited for you, I didn’t even _try_ to get along with Ashe for your sake, just because I was jealous, and I slacked off at work without thinking about what it meant for everyone else.  You were right about everything you said, back when we had that…uh.  Little fight.”

Harry snorts. “‘Little’,” he repeats sarcastically, and Louis is infinitely grateful that he doesn't bring up what he'd said about his family.  He doesn't want to talk about it any further – not tonight.  He knows Harry, knows that he'll bring this up later when the time is right, and that's good enough.

“Okay, I know you _think_  that you yelling is very intimidating, but it’s more surprising than anything else.  It wasn’t exactly World War III or anything, more like…a street fight in a strip mall parking lot.”

“I’ve missed your jokes.”

“I’ve missed you laughing at my jokes.”

“That’s not an apology.”

“I’m sorry you missed my jokes.”

“You prick.”

“I’m sorry I’m a prick.”

“That’s better.” Harry smiles, reaching over to pat Louis’s knee.

“So we’re good now, yeah?”

“Only if you let me come round your place tonight after this is all over for a romance film and some take away.”

“Deal.”

“Then yeah, we’re good.”

Louis thinks his heart might leap out through his chest.  He hopes it doesn’t, because that would be a very unflattering way to end such a warm moment. “Since we’re good, then, can you tell me what that green and yellow thing is?”

“Chive and cheese-stuffed green olives.”

“Ew, really?  Olives?  I hate olives.  Well done, couldn’t even taste it.”

“Hey, Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“Olive you.”

Louis grins, even though that pun was probably one of the _worst_ Harry’s ever made. “You’re a dork.”

“Aren’t you gonna say it back?”

“Absolutely not.  I have my dignity, Harold”

Harry pushes his shoulder, laughing, before standing up. “I should probably be getting back to the kitchen.  I feel bad leaving the servers to fend for themselves for this long.”

Louis nods, following Harry back through the halls to the kitchen.  He feels so _happy_ , feels it in the way his cheeks warm and redden, the way he bounces a little more with each step, the way he feels like he could take over the world.

They’ve just turned into the kitchen when they see Ashe, mid-conversation with one of the servers.

“ _Harry_ , there you are!  Where were you?”

Harry opens his mouth to reply, but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Never mind, just help these guys finish up the chicken, would you?”

Harry turns to Louis and grins, whispering in his ear, “I made ‘cock-a-vine’ for the main chicken dish, just for you.”

Even though Louis _hates_ being mocked, for some reason hearing that makes him burst out in a laugh so sudden he has to clamp a hand over his mouth to help him swallow it.

“You should finish up with your _coq au vin_ ,” Louis says haughtily, never one to make the same mistake twice – especially not when it leaves him as the butt of a joke.

“You remembered!” Harry taps the tip of Louis’s nose with his index finger.

Louis swats it away with an indignant squawk. “Twat.  I’ll wait for you out in the main hall; come find me when you’re done.”

Harry nods, still smiling as he turns back to the kitchen staff – who, by this point, are all looking at him in a silent plead for help.

Ashe gestures for Louis to follow him out of the kitchen and back to the party, and it’s strange; now that he knows he’s got his Harry back, Louis can almost stand Ashe.  _Almost_.

“I swear, if it had been anyone else pulling that kind of crap, I’d have fired them on the spot,” Ashe says, but there’s a little smile on his normally tense face.  It’s weird for Louis, seeing this side of him – the side Harry must normally see.

Louis doesn’t really know what to say to him, so he just nods and forces a laugh.

Ashe waits a minute, as if expecting a reply, but after a few long seconds he gives up and sighs, continuing to carry the conversation on his own. “I don’t know if that charm is going to cut it for him in America, though.”

Louis feels every single muscle in his body tense up. “Wait, what?”

 “I managed to get Harry in touch with a friend of mine who’s just opened up a new restaurant in New York and needs a sous chef.  Harry did a Skype interview a few weeks ago and got the job on the spot – didn’t he tell you?” He pauses, looking genuinely confused, before brushing it off. “It’s a really great opportunity – good pay, and good promotion opportunities, too.”

Louis swallows thickly, feeling his stomach sink to the soles of his feet. “Um, when…when does he leave?”

“Next month.”

 _Oh_.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis tries to ignore the upcoming shadow that is Christmas as he ventures back into the world of cactus owning.

“ _America_?”

Louis nods once, slowly grumbles, “Yep.”

It’s been a week since Ashe spilled the beans about Harry’s move to New York, and at first Louis was adamant to keep it to himself, knowing full well that it’s Harry’s secret so it’s only fair that he should get to tell everyone himself.  But this whole situation has worn him down, pushed him to a point where he has no choice but to invite Ed round for another well-needed heart-to-heart.

“How long have you known?”

“About a week.  Ashe told me at Harry’s catering thing.”

“So he didn’t even tell you himself?”

 “I don’t know why he didn’t want me to know about it.  I’m sure he’s got a reason.  Maybe he – I don’t know, maybe he feels bad or something.  He shouldn’t.  It’s a good opportunity,” Louis says sullenly.

“Yeah, and you sound _so_ thrilled for him,” Ed jokes.

“I am.  Well, not thrilled, exactly, but I’m glad he’s got this chance. I guess I know why he was so close to Ashe – the guy did turn out to have some good connections in Harry’s field.”

Ed scoffs. “Yeah, you’re so _happy_ for him, that’s why you called me over here to mope with that sad look on your face.”

“Just because I’m happy for him doesn’t mean I’m happy in general.”

“Then talk to him and tell him to stay.”

“We just got over the biggest row we've ever had; I don’t think the way to keep things good between us is to try and get him to give up the biggest thing to happen to him just because I don't want him to go.  Besides, he obviously doesn’t want me to know – if he did, he’d have told me about it himself.”

“So, what’s the plan?  How’re you going to get him to turn the offer down?”

“I’m not.”

Ed pulls a face. “That doesn’t sound like the ever-scheming Louis I know and am mildly fond of.”

Louis rolls his eyes and elbows Ed in the ribs half-heartedly. “It’s just not fair for me to manipulate him like that.”

“He _is_ your business partner – I’m pretty sure you’re allowed to be upset if he’s planning on just walking out on you and your contract to move across the planet.”

“If I have to choose between protecting my business and protecting our friendship, I’d rather let the coffee shop go under.”

“So that’s it?  You’re just going to pretend everything’s normal until he up and disappears?”

“Pretty much.”

Ed reaches over and wraps an arm around Louis’s shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze and letting a heavy silence swallow them up. Louis is glad for the break in conversation, because there’s a huge lump settling itself in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow, so he just leans against Ed and tries not to think about anything for a long, long time.

+

With one week left until Christmas, Harry starts taking it upon himself to make the shop more festive.  One night, just as Louis is crawling into bed, Harry rings him up with the idea to add some new things to the menu like ginger biscuits and chocolate cookies with bits of candy canes in.  A few days later, Louis comes in to open only to find Paul McCartney’s _Wonderful Christmas Time_ blaring through the shop while Harry strings lights and tinsel across the counters, a bright red Santa hat covering his curly mop.

It’s not just Harry who’s getting into the Christmas spirit.  The streets of London start getting even busier than usual, bringing in more hungry and tired shoppers through Big Bean’s doors by the truckload with every passing day.

For Louis, though, Christmas isn’t something to look forward to this year.  He hasn’t really gotten over the fact that his family will be awaiting his final decision about his business come the 25th, and while he knows that he can’t bear to shut down Big Bean and leave all his new friends without jobs, it’s still hard for him to stomach the thought of losing his family. It doesn’t help that it looks like he’ll be spending his birthday alone this year, too.  Plus, Christmas means less than two weeks until Harry leaves. Basically, this entire holiday season is just bringing Louis down.

So, with all that crap on his mind, he can’t help but feel a little bitter when Niall starts talking about his plans for the holidays and asking for gift ideas for his nephew.

“I can’t give him a shit present, I have to be the _cool_ uncle.”

“Does he even have any other uncles?”

“Harry, focus!” Niall chews the end of his pen thoughtfully, fiddling with the napkin where he’s started a list of gift ideas – which, thus far, is empty apart from a few scribbles he made to see if the pen worked.

 “Is he too young for an iPad, d’you figure?  Every kid seems to have one these days.”

“I can’t afford that!” Niall cries, before looking back and forth between Harry and Louis and batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly. “Unless my two kind, loving, handsome bosses want to give me a really big Christmas bonus?”

“Would you take cookies as payment?” Louis asks, offering him a bite of his ginger biscuit, which Niall refuses with a scowl.

Harry leans against the counter alongside the two of them. “Well, what did you play with when you were his age?”

“I don’t know, probably Mr. Potato Head and my own reflection.”

“That’s depressing.”

“Hey, my childhood was very fulfilling, thank you very much.”

“Did your reflection tell you that?”

Niall crumples up the napkin and throws it at Louis with a battle cry of “Oi!”

Harry laughs. “So, Louis, what’re your plans for your birthday?”

“Well, I was going to have 300 of my closest friends over for a party, but Posh and Becks are busy, and it’s not a party without them so there’s just no point anymore,” Louis jokes.

Harry sees right through Louis’s joke and bumps his hip against Louis’s lightly. “You know you’re always welcome ‘round mine. My mum loves you; she’d like nothing more than for you to spend your birthday – and, of course, Christmas – with us.”

And Louis wants to, wants to _so badly_ , because he knows what Christmas is like at Harry’s house.  He knows their traditions of wearing tacky festive sweaters and watching all the cheesy Christmas specials on telly, getting drunk on too-strong eggnog and singing carols and putting in that DVD of a fireplace while they reminisce over embarrassing stories from Harry's childhood, and it sounds so much nicer than just staying at his place and eating frozen pizza alone.  But he can’t bring himself to do it, because staying this close to Harry means it will hurt more when he leaves, and he needs to do whatever he can to soften the blow now while he can still control the situation. “Nah, that’s fine. I’ve been meaning to spend quality time with Peter.”

“Who’s Peter?”

“My cactus.”

“I thought you said it died.”

“No, that was Phil – rest his prickly soul. Peter is my _new_ cactus.”

“Okay, well if Peter is too much of a party animal for you to handle, you know the offer to swing by my family’s place is always open.”

Liam walks into the shop just then, which is a little unusual as he’s synched himself up to Zayn’s work schedule enough to know that he isn’t in today.  Somewhere in the past few weeks, they’ve crossed that grey line from ‘casually going on outings that aren’t quite dates’ to ‘official confirmed couple’, and though nobody’s really sure how it happened, they're not questioning it either.

“Are you lost?” Louis says, only half-joking. “It’s Zayn’s day off.”

“I’m here to talk to you lot, actually. I was wondering if you wanted to head out for drinks after you finish here with Zayn and I?  My treat, whatever you like.”

“Ooh, a man with money.  What’s the occasion?” Harry asks.

“I got moved up at work to supervisor of my department, and so my work gave me a pretty nice Christmas bonus.”

“See?  _He_ gets a Christmas bonus,” Niall whines.

“You’re the one who turned down the biscuit.”

“It wasn’t even my own biscuit, just a bite of yours.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Louis says with a shrug before turning back to Liam. “Hey, if it involves free drinks and friends, I’m there.”

“Me as well,” Niall says with a nod.

“Excellent.  What about you, Harry?”

Harry shakes his head. “Can’t, got to start packing. Knowing me, I’ll leave it off until the last minute, and if I rush it I know I’ll leave something important behind.”

The words hit Louis like a punch to the stomach and he suddenly has no interest in carrying through with the conversation, so he just looks down at what’s left of his biscuit and starts pulverizing it into fine crumbs over the counter until all that’s left is a mound of ginger dust. It stings more than he cares to admit that Harry is ready to talk about it so openly, and he realizes that maybe Harry isn’t hiding anything at all – maybe everyone else already knows, and Harry just didn’t feel the need to tell Louis after all this time. Or worse – maybe it completely slipped his mind to tell Louis.  He'd thought things were back to normal between them, but if Louis isn't the first person Harry wants to call with news like this, clearly he was wrong.  By the time he snaps back into focus, Liam is long gone and Harry’s back in the kitchen, leaving him to clean up the mess of crumbs he's made and try to pretend nothing’s wrong.

+

It turns out that going out for drinks with Liam and Zayn isn’t as fun as Louis had thought.  It feels a bit like he and Niall are sitting in on Zayn’s date or something, with the way he and Liam are practically glued together and keep doing this thing where they look at each other like they’ve completely forgotten anyone else is there.

Niall seems to feel the same, as he keeps giving Louis a bewildered and uncomfortable look that Louis can’t help but return. He’s happy Zayn’s finally got his guy, he really is, but he also wishes he didn’t feel like this was some sort of weird double date, because he and Niall are _definitely_ not up for that.

Relief comes soon enough when Zayn excuses himself for a quick smoke.  The change in Liam is instantaneous; as soon as Zayn is out of sight, he suddenly straightens up and seems to remember that there are other people at the table.

“So, anyone up for another round of drinks?” Niall prods, trying to get some sort of conversation going.

“Good idea – those two were looking kind of thirsty,” Louis teases.

“What is it with you and all these dirty jokes?” Liam laughs.

Louis blinks, caught off-guard. “Honestly, I didn’t really think you got them.”

Liam looks around, scoping out the club to check if the coast is clear. “Okay, promise not to tell Zayn?”

“Maybe.”

“Good enough.  Well, um, I actually pretended not to get any of the dirty jokes or innuendos you made because Zayn seemed so sophisticated and intelligent and I figured he’d want nothing to do with me if he thought I liked that kind of stuff.”

“Excuse you, _what_ is wrong with my jokes?” Louis demands.

“No, no, nothing, I just – I wanted to seem sophisticated, like Zayn.”

Louis sighs and shrugs. “I won’t hold it against you, since it seems to have worked out in your favour.  But to be fair, Zayn was so smitten with you right from the start that I don’t think it took very much for you to land him.”

“Really?” Liam beams.

“Nobody answered me on the drinks, so you can get your own,” Niall huffs before leaving the table and marching up to the bar.

Zayn reappears just as Niall disappears into the crowd, and right as he sees Liam slip back into lovebird mode Louis realizes that he can’t deal with this without Niall by his side, so he makes up some excuse to leave the table and heads to the dance floor.

It doesn’t take long before he’s making eyes at a cute boy across the room, and before Louis knows it said cute boy is making his way across the floor to flirt with Louis up close and personal, grinding his hips hot and dirty against Louis’s arse to the beat of the music. His hands snake around Louis’s torso, sliding down along his stomach down to his hips and stopping at the tops of his thighs, pulling him back so he’s flush against the other boy’s body.

“Wanna head back to my place?” he says in Louis’s ear.

Louis thinks maybe he could do this kind of thing again, just for one night; he could make up some excuse to tell the others about feeling tired and needing an early night, then sneak out with this boy and spend a night fucking his stress and loneliness away until morning.

He feels his mobile buzz in his pocket, and fishes it out to see a new text from Harry. ‘ _Watching X-Factor without you feels so weird. Xx_ ’ Louis smiles at all the unnecessary emojis at the end of the text, and something inside him changes, tells him he doesn’t really need to go spend the night with this strange boy anymore. “Sorry, can’t.”

The guy shrugs, stepping back immediately. “Suit yourself,” he says, wandering off across the floor, headed back from whence he came.

Louis really doesn’t feel like dancing anymore, so he heads back over to where Liam and Zayn are sitting and collapses in the chair across from them, replying to Harry’s text with just as many dumb emojis and then proceeding to stare at his mobile until Harry replies. This cycle continues for the rest of the night, and even though he leaves the club without dancing with anyone else or chatting anyone up properly or even getting even a little drunk, he still feels like it was a good night.

+

The days leading up to Christmas start getting colder and colder.  Louis doesn’t remember it ever being this cold for Christmas before, but he doesn’t pay it much mind until one morning on his way to work.  There’s some discussion on the radio about the details of this cold front – apparently there’s some freak huge snowstorm headed for London that’s going to deliver record-breaking snowfall on Christmas Eve.

“Great,” Louis grumbles, pulling into a parking space and pulling his keys out of the ignition with a particularly vicious tug. The _last_ thing he needs is shitty weather keeping people from going into a shopping frenzy on Christmas Eve – that’s supposed to be the best profit day of the year.

It seems like everyone else has heard the news too, as Niall rushes up to greet Louis as soon as he sets foot in Big Bean.

“Hey, Louis, I know I was supposed to work the 24th, but – y’know that storm everyone’s talking about?”

“Who’s ‘everyone’?  I _just_ heard it literally thirty seconds ago on the radio,” Louis splutters.

Niall ignores him. “Well, if it’s as bad as they’re saying it’s going to be, then all flights will probably be cancelled. Is there any way I can get that day off so I can move my flight to the night of the 23rd?”

Louis nods, not necessarily because he knows he can make it work without Niall, but because he knows how much this trip home means to him and he doesn’t have the heart to say no. “Yeah, sure. Make sure to tell your family how wonderful and considerate and fit your favourite boss is, though.”

Niall grins. “You got it.”

Louis walks into the back room and wakes up the computer to change the schedule.  Niall and Harry were supposed to work the 24th, but there’s no way Harry can manage it on his own, and Louis would rather not work on his birthday – it’s shaping up to be pitiful enough as-is.

So, he calls Zayn.

“Hey, Zayn!  I was wondering if you’d be willing to come in on the 24th? Niall needs that day off so he can make it home for Christmas.  I’ll give you free coffee and unlimited stale biscuits for the whole day if you come in,” Louis promises, desperate to persuade him.

Zayn makes an uncertain noise over the phone. “I can’t. As soon as I found out I had the 24th off I went ahead and made plans.  I’m really sorry, Louis.”

Louis sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “No, no, I completely understand.  Thanks anyways.”

Okay, so Zayn’s off the list. He knows it’s a long shot, but the next number he punches into the phone is Ed’s.

Ed picks up after seven rings, and judging by the groggy tone to his voice he’s still half asleep when he barks out a, “’Lo?”

“Hey, Ed.

“Louis?  Th’ hell are you calling me for, do you know how early it is?”

Louis blinks. “It’s 9 o’clock.”

“That’s my point.”

“Okay, okay, fine, I apologize for disturbing you,” Louis says exaggeratedly.

“Liar.  What are you calling about, anyway?”

“You wouldn’t happen to want to come fill in for Niall on the 24th, would you?”

Ed lets out a stunned laugh. “You really think I have people skills like Niall to manage working with the customers?”

“Well, I know it’s not your preferred job, but I’m really stuck here,” Louis says, and even though he _knows_ it won’t work, he’s desperate enough to keep trying.

“Besides that, I don’t even know how to work the register or what your work procedures are.  I couldn’t try to figure it all out by Christmas Eve,” he points out, sounding a little bit more apologetic now.

Louis sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. “Yeah, you’re right.  I don’t know what I was thinking, sorry.”

“I’d help you if I could, mate, but I think me taking that shift would do more harm than good.”

“How gentlemanly of you.  My knight in ginger armour,” Louis says sarcastically.

“Shut up.  I’ll see you later – Happy Christmas.”

“Thanks, you too.” Louis hangs up and stares at the ceiling with a long, loud groan.  At least now he can look forward to spending his birthday this year working in the worst snowstorm in city record, with his family ready to disinherit him and his best friend preparing for a move across the planet.  _Great_ , he thinks, _happy birthday to me_.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis saves Christmas, and Harry is his favourite ginormous dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're still reading, i love you. xx

Louis’s birthday gets off to a rather ungraceful start when the first thing he does as he steps out of his flat complex is slip in a pile of slush and land flat on his arse. He lets himself just sit in the frosty mess for a long moment, accepting the fact that this is probably very telling of how the rest of his day is going to go, but then the cold starts to nip at places that he typically likes to keep warm so he reluctantly pulls himself to his feet.

He starts to walk to his car on the far end of the lot, then stops when he sees the amount of snow packed in around his tires. He’s hardly an expert on driving in winter weather (which, frankly, is incentive enough not to drive) but even he knows that there’s no way he’s getting his car through that snow. He almost wants to just give up here and now – call in and tell Harry he’s done, that he’s going to bed and not getting out until this whole holiday season is behind him.

Somehow, though, he manages to scrape together the emotional strength to make his way over to the bus station, pulling up his coat collar to his nose against the cold. The bus is 15 minutes late, moving at half-speed through the slush-covered streets, but when he finally climbs up the stairs he’s surprised to see that there are only a handful of people already on board. This time of morning, it would normally be packed – _especially_ since it’s Christmas Eve. He frowns, knowing this won’t bode well for business, and drops himself in the nearest seat with a resigned sigh.

The bus finally stops across the road from Big Bean, and Louis is further disappointed to see the lack of traffic in this part of town. It’s one of the main shopping districts, and he isn’t sure he’ll be able to cover his expenses without the boom of customers he’d been anticipating today. _Since when are people responsible enough to stay inside in bad weather_ , he thinks to himself bitterly as he crosses the street and walks into the coffee shop.

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees the interior. Twinkling Christmas lights are strung up all across the walls, and the pastry display is lined with shiny gold tinsel. Cheesy Christmas music is playing over the speakers, as it has been for the past week, but this morning there’s something else – Harry’s singing along, voice loud and unapologetic. Louis closes the door gently, careful not to make any noise as he creeps into the kitchen to see what his friend is up to.

Harry’s got his now-trademark Santa hat pulled crookedly over his hair and is wearing quite possibly the _ugliest_ holiday sweater Louis has ever seen, and he’s got Christmas stickers pasted all over his jeans. He’s busy frosting a few cupcakes with red and green icing, piping it out like holly and sprinkling a bit of gold edible dust over the top.

“Impressive,” Louis says, leaning against the doorway.

Harry jumps, accidentally squeezing out a long string of icing all over the counter. He turns, eyes wide with surprise, and Louis bites back a laugh as he sees the streaks of gold dust all across his face and clothes. “Didn’t hear you come in!” he explains, voice chipper and cheerful.

“I figured as much,” Louis says with a grin. “Is Ed here yet?”

Harry frowns and sets down his piping bag. “No, he called about ten minutes ago to tell me he wouldn’t make it. Said he’d been waiting for his bus for half an hour and it still hadn’t showed, so he was going back inside before he froze his nuts off.”

Louis nods knowingly because yeah, that definitely sounds like Ed. “Fair enough,” he says. “Have we had much business yet?”

“Just one woman who came in and bought a tea. Wouldn’t get any of the pastries though – suspect we’ll have to eat most of them ourselves if it stays like this.” Harry says with a wink.

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “You’re fattening me up, aren’t you?”

“You make me feel like the witch from Hansel and Gretel.”

“If the broomstick fits.”

“It’s your birthday, you’re entitled to a few sweets. Which reminds me – happy birthday!” Harry turns and grabs a plate of cookies, each stacked on top of one another with a thick later of frosting holding them all together. 

“Is that a cookie-cake?” Louis’s eyebrows shoot up, equal parts impressed and bewildered.

Harry nods, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Made it myself.”

“I kind of suspected that,” Louis assures him, and Harry gives him a sour look for that but doesn’t say anything. “Here, let’s cut it in half and split it.”

“No, you need to blow out your candle first!” Harry turns and grabs a small blue candle off the counter, tries to stick it down the middle of the stack of cookies only to discover that they’re too firm and dense to yield to the candle. Bits of blue wax start flaking off onto the cookie, and so Harry finally gives up and lights the candle anyways, holding it out to Louis pinched between his fingers.

“Really? This is – really?” Louis blinks a few times, trying to figure out if Harry is serious.

Harry rolls his eyes, less than pleased with Louis’s lack of enthusiasm. “Just hurry, before the wax melts onto my fingers.”

Louis tries to keep a straight face as he stares Harry down, but he can’t stop the smile that works its way onto his face. “Fine, fine,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut and crinkling his nose, like his wish is more likely to come true if he puts his whole body into making it. He thinks about wishing that Harry would stay, but that seems selfish, even for him. Or he could wish to not gain an ounce of weight this year no matter what he eats, but given that he’s making this wish over a stack of cookies and fudge frosting, he doubts they’d cancel each other out. 

He finally settles on his wish, and blows out the teeny candle while repeating it over and over in his head: ‘ _I wish to never have a sad Christmas ever again_ ’.

 

+

 

After he finishes eating his ‘cake’ (which only takes him three bites), Harry notices the damp spot all along Louis’s back and trousers from where he fell into the snow. He shoos Louis into the back room, telling him to change into the spare set of clothes in Harry’s locker, muttering something about ‘going to catch pneumonia’ like the concerned mother hen that Louis suspects he truly is.

He would complain about having to change out of one of his favourite outfits, but Harry’s clothes are baggy and soft and warm and comfortable on a level that Louis doesn’t think his own clothes could ever be. He shuffles back out into the kitchen, the bottoms of his borrowed sweatpants rolled up around his ankles to keep him from tripping, and perches up on the counter.

“Still no business?” he asks.

Harry frowns and shakes his head, sighing. “I don’t think I’m going to make it to Cheshire tomorrow, either. Hell, I don’t think I can drive back to my flat _tonight_." 

“You can take the bus with me back to my place, if you want,” Louis offers nonchalantly. “I mean, unless you’ve got stuff to do. Y’know, for America and whatnot.”

Harry knits his brows together and frowns, perplexed. “What about America?”

Louis’s stomach twists as he tries to figure out if he said the wrong thing. “I mean, I’m completely supportive! Plenty to do over there, lots of opportunities. You could be the next Gordon Ramsay. I mean, I don’t think you’ve got what it takes to be as much of a prick as him, but we could work on it together, teach you how to be as witty and _brilliant_ as me. Chicken so pink a skilled vet could still save it, squid so raw it’s still telling Spongebob to fuck off. That kind of thing.” He’s talking a million miles an hour now, feeling like he can’t stop until he sees Harry smile.

He doesn’t.

“Louis, stop, stop, just…breathe for a second,” Harry says, and though his expression is still solemn there’s a softness in his voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Gordon Ramsay? You know – blond British chef? 40-something year old man with a 90-something year old forehead? Him.”

“I know who Gordon Ramsay is, Louis!” Harry says, finally letting out a short laugh, though it does little to ease the knot in Louis’s stomach. “I meant, why are you talking about America?”

Louis pauses, realizing maybe he wasn’t supposed to know. “Ashe told me about your interview – how you’re moving to America to take that job.”

Harry blinks once, twice, expression slowly settling as he absorbs what Louis is saying. “You…what?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say anymore, I’ve been talking nonstop for five minutes now and told you literally everything I know,” Louis says flatly.

Harry nods slowly, stares down at the floor with a thoughtful look on his face, like he’s piecing something together. “I did have an interview for a job in New York, and I got the job offer on the spot,” he confirms, and there’s a weird smile on his face – like he’s holding back a laugh.

“And I’m really happy for you,” Louis assures him, though he’s rather put-off by the strange expression still on Harry’s face because, really, what the hell is funny about this situation?

“But I turned them down on the spot, too.”

 _Holy shit_. That changes things. Louis does his best to hide the million-watt smile that pulls at his lips – and fails miserably. “What? Why?” He buries his face in the collar of his sweater to try and hide just how happy he is to hear this in case he’s not supposed to be this ecstatic. 

“Because I didn’t actually _want_ the job. Ashe pressured me into taking the interview after he found out that there was a Starbucks opening down the road; he kept saying I should try and get out of Big Bean before it went under. I took the interview just to see if I could get it – y’know, it’d be a huge comfort if I knew I had the qualifications to get another job if I had to. But I never had any intentions of actually taking that job. I wouldn’t leave this place, not before it actually went under – God forbid.”

Louis takes a few seconds to process this. Harry’s not leaving. He’s actually not leaving. The past few weeks of worrying himself sick suddenly fade away, leaving him feeling happier than he has in _ages_. He lets his sweater fall from his face to give Harry his brightest grin. He just wants to hug him for an hour straight, wants to tell him just how happy he is that he’s staying, wants to tell him how much he would have missed him, wants to kiss him so hard he sees stars, and _oh, fuck_ , that one’s new. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me any of this, you ginormous dick?” Or that; that works, too.

Harry shrugs, gives Louis a quirked little half-grin. “Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal to me. Yeah, it was an ego boost that they offered me the job, but like I said, I never wanted it. Plus, with everything that was happening between us and all the preparations I had to make to cater Ashe’s gala, I kind of forgot about it.”

“So why does Ashe still think you’re going?” 

“I didn’t tell him I turned it down until after I finished catering that dinner. Guess you must have found out before I told him.” He says it so nonchalantly, like it’s nothing more than a minor detail instead of something that’s been plaguing Louis’s nightmares for the past several weeks, and Louis would strangle him if he weren’t so overcome with love and adoration for the kid right now.

“Okay. Okay. So, you’re staying. That’s…” he fumbles for words, unable to keep a grin off his face.

“Okay?” Harry supplies with a teasing grin, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Wait, then why were you talking about having to pack?”

“Because I was supposed to go to Cheshire for Christmas,” Harry says slowly, like it should have been obvious.

“Fine, yeah, shut up. Don’t have to be an arse about it,” Louis grumbles, but he’s still grinning. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop smiling; this is the best birthday gift he could have possibly asked for.

 

+

 

Though the day passes without any more than 3 customers, Louis really doesn’t mind much. He knows he should be more concerned about making a profit to cover their asses for this quarter, but he’s secretly kind of happy to have some uninterrupted time with Harry, just the two of them. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since they’ve been able to goof off together without the weight of one argument or another hanging over them.

But Louis feels like there’s something there, something Harry won’t talk about but that he can see in his eyes every time he meets his gaze. He brings it up a few times, asks if everything is okay and why he’s looking at him like a puppy who needs to be let out, but Harry just shrugs and changes the subject. Louis doesn’t feel like pushing his luck – not after all they’ve just gone through – so he eventually shuts up about it, and that’s that. Whatever it is, Harry doesn’t seem angry or upset about it, so Louis will let him bring it up on his own time. It’s not like Harry’s known for his ability to keep a secret, anyways.

They manage to make it through the day without the conversation ever lulling, chatting away even as they close up shop and wipe down all the counters. Harry stuffs all the leftover baked goods in Ziplock bags and splits them all up between the two of them. They say their goodbyes and their Happy Christmases and promise to call the other as soon as they get home and then they head out, Louis on his way to the bus stop and Harry pulling out his phone to call a cab.

Louis has been waiting a whole 5 minutes when he hears someone call his name, and he turns to see Harry standing in the middle of the snowy sidewalk with his long, lanky arms wrapped around himself for warmth.

“Come inside,” Harry calls, holding out his phone urgently without offering any other explanation.

Louis looks down the ghostly-empty street to make sure his bus isn’t on its way before shuffling through the snow to where Harry stands in front of the shop. “What’s wrong?”

“I just checked the news on my phone. Busses are shut down from the storm, and none of the cabs are running in this weather.” Harry frowns and chews on his lower lip as he pulls Louis into the shop and out of the cold.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis breathes, locking the door behind him and shedding all his winter clothes off in a heap on the floor. “What do we do now?”

Harry sighs and leans against the edge of the counter, puffing his cheeks out. “Settle in here for the night, I guess.”

Louis is shaking his head before Harry’s even finished speaking. “No way. You were going to go visit your family for Christmas – what about that?”

“I haven’t exactly got a choice here, Lou,” Harry points out, grabbing one of the Ziplock bags he’d packed up earlier and stuffing a sugar cookie in his mouth.

Louis collapses in one of the booths, staring up at the ceiling and trying to come up with some sort of plan to get Harry out of this, but nothing comes to mind. “Fuck,” he says again. 

“Mm,” Harry hums in agreement. “Not such a bad thing, though. We’ve got food, we’ve got electricity, we’ve got each other.”

And when he hears it like that, Louis perks up a little. He gets to his feet and marches into the back room, hooking his phone up to the store’s stereo and opening up that Christmas playlist that Harry had made him download last year. Once he’s got some Michael Bublé playing softly in the background he adjusts the lights, turning off half of them until he’s happy with the soft, warm lighting in the shop, and plugs in all the Christmas twinkle lights that Harry strung up earlier.

“There; that’s not so bad, is it?” he asks, coming back out into the seating area where Harry meets him with a look of pure adoration. 

“You’ve saved Christmas,” he says, though it sounds like he’s only half-teasing.

Louis takes a bow with a grand flourish and swipes the Santa hat off the counter, putting it back where it belongs – atop Harry’s head. “Now, let’s make some hot chocolate and see if we can’t get the Wi-Fi to cooperate long enough to stream a Christmas film or two.”

“Wait, Lou…” Harry calls out, and Louis turns back to give him a concerned look. 

“What’s wrong?”

Harry chews on his lower lip and wrings his hands together nervously, brows pulled together like he’s trying to piece together something he wants to say. “Nothing. Just, don’t forget the extra marshmallows in mine.”

Louis pauses for a split second, contemplates whether it’s worth pushing Harry to spill whatever’s wrong with him, but decides against it. It’s going to be a long night; there’s still time for him to talk about it on his own. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”


End file.
